The war with Russia has yet to begin,
and now whoever’s fought and taken part
cannot safely remain anywhere within
Lithuania — they must quickly depart!
You must escape to the Duchy of Warsaw,
Maciek the Baptist, the Bucket, Razor;
Tadeusz too, for there the Russian law
cannot reach cross the Nieman’s sandy shore,
where friendly Poles await with open arms.
We’ll cast the blame on those who fled our land,
the rest of us will stay here on our farms.
I bid farewell, your country will demand
this much from you, but our hopes are certain —
freedom will come, and you who leave, exiles,
will shortly see a savior in this domain,
an end to Lithuania’s trials.
Now let the Judge prepare our men to go,
and I’ll supply the gold for the journey.”
The nobles felt the Chamberlain must know
the best advice — from the Tsar they must flee.
It was well known that once you fight the Tsar,
you won’t find peace, he never will agree,
for you must fight his rule, or rot in far
Siberia. They couldn’t speak or comment,
but sadly nodded their heads in assent.
Of all the nationalities, the Pole
alone is known to love his native land
more than his life — that has become his role,
prepared to leave at his country’s command,
to wander the earth, to struggle with fate,
homeless and destitute, far from Poland.
He’ll live till this tyranny will abate,
apart, in hope, to serve his fatherland.
The men were willing to depart at once.
Only Buchman did not approve the plan,
for he had good sense and kept his distance,
just as the terrible fighting began.
But when he heard them deliberating,
he rushed inside to speak, to cast his vote
or his veto; soon he was debating.
The plan was sound, but he wished to devote
more time; first appoint a legal commission,
consider the aims of emigration,
explore the reasons behind this mission,
and, of course, matters of administration.
If there were more time, Buchman would be followed;
instead, the men hastened along the road.
Tadeusz was detained inside the room
by his uncle, who then addressed the priest:
“It’s time Tadeusz became a bridegroom.
We know he loves Zosia, let us at least
ask for her hand before he must depart.
I know Telimena won’t oppose the match,
Zosia will finish what her aunt will start;
she will consent to it before his dispatch.
But if we can’t prepare a wedding feast,
at least we’ll arrange to have them engaged.
A young traveler’s heart can be deceived;
He’ll meet with temptation at every stage
of the journey. But if he simply glances
at his own ring, he’ll think himself a husband.
A ring has power over great distances,
to cool a young man’s ardor in a foreign land.”
“Thirty years ago I felt this way —
her name, Marta, and she captured my heart;
we were betrothed, but God took her away,
and left me alone from the very start.
This union was not favored; the poor thing,
the lovely daughter of the Seneschal
was taken — all that remained was this ring,
and memories of this charming girl.
Now when I glance at it, she stands before me.
Never a husband, but a widower,
I still remain faithful to my fiancée.
The Seneschal has another daughter,
so like Marta, but I’ve never sought her.”
He gazed tenderly at his wedding ring,
and wiped the tears with the back of his hand.
“What do you think, should we plan a wedding?
We all agree that he should be a husband.”
Tadeusz spoke, his voice was animated:
“How to repay this overwhelming act
of kindness? For what you’ve instigated
surely would provide just what my life has lacked.
You’ve been concerned about my happiness,
Uncle — if Zosia were engaged to me,
nothing would make me more happy or less
afraid to face my fate. But honestly,
don’t ask more, if only Zosia would wait,
perhaps I’d prove my worth beyond treason.
If I were constant, she’d reciprocate;
let me earn the right to her affection,
and after winning fame for trifling deeds,
I will return from the insurrection,
back to my native land and pressing needs.
Then, dear Uncle, we’ll discuss your promise;
I’ll ask for Zosia’s hand on bended knee;
if not already wed, she won’t dismiss
my proposal. But Poland isn’t free;
now I must abandon Lithuania;
I don’t deserve such joy for infamy;
I’m simply unworthy to marry Zosia.”
But Zosia heard his tearful admission,
as she hid, deep in the alcove, peeking
through the cracked wall, at his self-derision.
Her heart fluttered; at once she was seeking
the key to this great mystery. His eyes
were full of tears; why did he fall in love?
And if he truly loved, why these replies
about abandoning her? And yet, these strange
words — that she was beloved — were marvelous,
for never had she heard such an exchange.
She ran to the altar in the next hall,
removed a painting of Saint Genevieve,
and took the reliquary off the wall,
to find a bit of cloth that all believe
to be from Saint Joseph’s caftan — for the bridegroom,
too, has his patron saint. Before he’d leave,
she grabbed them both and rushed into the room.
“Let me give you this gift before you go,
and this advice: Always carry this
relic and this picture, so I will know
you think of me, that Zosia you will miss.
May God guide you in health and bring you back.”
She said no more, and barely dropped her head,
and when she shut her eyes, they showed no lack
of tears. Though she was mute, they spoke instead.
Just then the Count and Telimena came;
with great surprise they watched the sad farewell,
and he was moved and felt a little shame.
He glanced at Telimena to dispel
her fears: “Even in such a simple scene
such beauty dwells. Note the simple shepherdess
who joins her soul, as noble as a queen,
to the soul of a warrior, no less
noble. And now like ships at sea, the barge
is parted from the warship by the storm.
Leaving wounds the heart like a gun discharge;
such separation only leads to harm.
And yet, separation, like gusting wind,
is sure to extinguish such a small candle,
whereas a fire strongly fanned from behind
bursts into flame, too furious to handle.
My heart could love more strongly from afar;
I regret I mistook you for a rival,
and that this error almost led to war.
Tadeusz, my sword
has been the cause of this quarrel,
for while you chased this charming shepherdess,
I gave my heart to someone else. Now let
us drown for good this foolish vengefulness
in our enemies’ blood, and not forget
that we are Poles and not cut-throats.
There are other ways to settle our score —
we’ll fight, but not with swords or pikes or threats;
we’ll fight to see which one of us is more
prepared to prove his love and serve in exile.
We’ll fight against suffering and sorrow,
pursuing enemies in valiant style.”
He glanced at Telimena, who tried to show
she understood, but was confused a while.
“But Count,” the Judge broke in, ‘do not insist
on going. Better to stay and be safe;
poorer nobles will be on the Tsar’s list,
but you are rich, you can sit back and laugh.
You could buy back your freedom if you wished.”
“That goes against my nature,” said the Count.
If I can’t love, at least I can win glory;
I’ll be consoled by fame and thus discount
the woes of love by changing history:
a pauper of the heart, yet rich in glory.”
Telimena asked, “What stands in your way
to love and happiness?”
“My destiny
makes it impossible for me to stay,”
replied the Count. “There is some mystery,
some force to urge me on to foreign soil,
to extraordinary deeds. I confess,
today I hoped that I’d remain loyal,
and stand at the altar of the Goddess
Hymen, to honor you and light the flame.
But this boy’s provided a fine example,
renouncing his wedding to clear his name,
prepared to tear his wreath and then trample
his fate, to test his heart in bloody war.
This very day I see a brand new epoch:
my heroic deeds will echo from afar,
from the castle perched high on Sicilian rock.
Yet now I see that Poland is my lord.”
As he spoke he struck the hilt of his sword.
It’s hard to criticize such strength of will,”
replied the priest. :Go raise a regiment
of men like Prince Potocki, to fulfill
the French demand that we should represent
ourselves. Or match the gift of Prince Radziwill,
who sold his possessions, most of his land
and gave his wealth to the French government;
two new cavalry regiments now stand.
So go, but take money, for we have sent
men across the Niemien where our friends dwell,
but money’s scarce, resources have been drained.
So go now, if you must, dear Count, farewell.”
Telimena watched, though her eyes were sad.
“Unfortunately, you won’t be restrained,
my knight, for you’re relieved and almost glad
to enter war, though you’d return bloodstained.”
She tore a ribbon from her dress and made
a bow, which she then pinned to the Count’s chest.
“Glance at my colors when you make a raid;
let them guide you to safety, home, and rest,
amid glistening spears and cannon fire
and sulfurous rain. And if you do win fame
for gallant deeds, when you finally tire
of war, when other brave men will claim
your bloodied helmet veiled with laurel leaves,
remember to look at this bow I’ve pinned,
and think of the lady, alone, who grieves,
whose colors you would gladly die to defend.”
She offered her hand and the Count then knelt
and kissed it; Telimena raised her kerchief
to wipe her eyes, and it was clear she felt
she’d done her best to show the Count her grief.
So looking down she watched, quite satisfied —
his leave, shrugging her shoulders she sighed.
“Please hurry,’ said the Judge, ‘It’s getting late.”
The monk added, :Enough,” and made a face
that frightened them. “Be off! Let this talk abate.”
Together their comments cleared out the place;
the loving pair was driven out the gate.
Meanwhile, Tadeusz embraced his uncle,
and tearfully kissed Father Robak’s hand,
who hugged the youth, pressing to his temple,
and made the sign of the cross and this demand,
glancing up to heaven: “God protect you.”
He was weeping; Tadeusz was long gone.
“What’s this,” the Judge called out, ‘What of your vow?
He’ll learn nothing of all the deeds you’ve done;
you’ll let him go in ignorance?”
“For now,”
replied the monk, covering his face.
“Why should he know his father hid, disguised,
a murderer, who now is seeking grace?
God knows, I long to tell, don’t be surprised;
my silence might atone for my disgrace.”
“It’s time to think about yourself. A man
your age, his health failing,” the Judge then said,
“couldn’t emigrate. You have a plan —
you know a place to hide yourself instead.
Where should we go — the harnessed cart awaits.
Hide in the woods, and not on these estates.”
Nodding his head, Robak replied, ‘The lights
are out, it’s safe to stay until tomorrow;
summon the parish priest, my final rites
must be administered before I’ll go.
All but the Warden leave, and lock the door.”
The Judge carried out Robak’s instructions,
and sat beside him on the bed. Once more
Gervazy stands apart with his suspicions,
elbows on his sword’s hilt, almost resting
his head, his hand squeezing, his grip — testing.
The monk began to talk, watching the face
of the Warden, and fixed his gaze, silent,
concealing his secret. Then with the grace
of a surgeon, scalpel poised a moment,
calming his patient with a gentle hand,
the monk softened his look, lowered his gaze.
Gervazy watched and tried to understand;
he covered his eyes just like a man who prays,
to keep from blindly striking his own hand.
“I am Jacek Soplica,” said the priest.
The Warden paled and swayed from side to side;
he leaned in front, then all his movement ceased —
like a boulder rolled down a mountainside
halted in mid-course. He balanced on one leg;
his mouth fell open with his white teeth bared,
moustache bristling like the tail of a dog.
He dropped his sword, but with his knees he snared
it before it hit the floor. The long blade
stuck out in back and wagged from side to side.
So, like a wounded lynx, hunted in a glade,
the Warden crouched, ready to spring or hide,
puffed up in a ball, emitting a wail,
twitching his whiskers and lashing his tail.
“Warden,’ answered the priest, “such human wrath
no longer frightens me, I’m in God’s hands.
I beg you in His name to seek His path.
He, who even crucified, forgave the bands
of wretched men who planned his execution.
Please listen to a sinful man’s request.
Forget for just this moment r
etribution;
I beg forgiveness for what I have just confessed.
If, after this you are not satisfied,
do as you wish. He clasped his hands in prayer.
The Warden stood back, shocked and stupefied;
he struck his head and trembled in despair.
The Priest ignored the Warden’s fright, and told
the whole story — how he became involved
with Horeszko’s daughter, and how the old
Pantler insulted him, and how it was resolved.
But as he spoke, his tale grew more confused;
sorrows were mingled with his accusations.
At times he stopped completely and refused
to explain the complex order and relations.
The Warden knew the exact history
of the Horeszko clan, and sorted out
the tangled strands of this tangled story.
He could fill in the gaps; he knew about
things that the Judge could not have known. Both listened,
bowing their heads as Jacek slowly spoke,
choosing his words and stopping to amend.
“You know, Gervazy, just how often I broke
bread with him, invited to his banquets.
He’d drink to my health and when his glass was upraised,
he’d swear our friendship caused him no regrets,
that never had he known a man so praised.
He would embrace me, and all saw and thought
we shared our souls. What kind of friend was he?
Such sorrow to my soul he quickly brought.”
“During that time the words he spoke to me
were whispered by all those around the district.
‘Soplica,’ he said, ‘You vainly compete
for a magnate’s daughter carefully picked,
yet this dwelling is too high for the feet
of a Cupbearer’s son to reach.’ I joked
when they gossiped and pretended to sneer
at the Pantler and his daughter; I poked
fun at aristocrats and their career.
I only went out of obligation,
saying my wife would have to be my equal.
And yet these jokes hid the devastation
done to my soul, for I was young and full
of daring. New-found freedoms filled the state:
a simple gentleman had the same chance
to wear the crown as some mighty magnate.
Tenczynski asked for permission to dance
with the King’s daughter, and they, without shame,
offered her hand. I was equal in nerve
to him, my rank and merit were the same,
The commonwealth I endeavored to serve.”
“It takes only a moment to destroy
the happiness of another, beyond
repair, for it is so easy to toy
with one man’s fate, to turn his life around.
Adam Mickiewicz Collected Poetical Works Page 34