A single friendly word would bring such joy,
perhaps a solution could have been found,
and he would live, and his beloved child,
Eva, so fair, might have become my bride.
I — the grateful son-in-law, and he — the mild
grandfather rocking the children who cried.
It might have been; he alone held the key,
but he refused, and thus the crime that followed.
Transgression, suffering, and poverty,
belong to both of us. And yet I vowed
to expiate this sin; I have no right
to accuse, for I bear the entire guilt.
I’ve forgiven him, though he caused this fight;
yes, in my heart, I did forgive the man I killed.”
“If only he sincerely refused me;
he knew we fell in love; he should have chased
me far way — who knows my destiny?
I would have ridden off, enraged, disgraced;
perhaps I’d curse him, then leave him in peace.
But he was too cruel and cunning for that,
and he let me come and go as I please,
pretending that he never had the thought
that I would try to win his daughter’s hand,
for he needed me for my great influence
over the nobles who owned the most land.
He accepted me without reluctance;
encouraged me just as he did before,
as though nothing had changed, and he ignored
my love for his daughter, although it tore
my heart. And when I came he acted bored,
unless he saw my eyes tearful and dark,
or noticed my heaving breast ready to burst.
Then he would throw in some casual remark —
a lawsuit won, how in the hunt he finished first.”
How many times we drank. He was so moved,
he clasped my arm, proclaimed our deep friendship.
It was only my sword, my vote, he loved.
I was courteous; I returned his grip,
although such anger festered deep inside,
I’d salivate, and reach to grab my sword,
to spit on our friendship, regain my pride
by running it through this arrogant lord.
But Eva guessed my aim — I don’t know how —
perhaps my eyes revealed my intention.
She seemed alarmed, her cheeks began to glow,
then paled; she somehow got my attention,
this pretty little dove, so calm and mild,
so small and angelic, she looked to me.
I lost my nerve; I was no longer wild;
I couldn’t cause her fright or misery.”
“So Lithuania’s infamous knight,
in front of whom great lords shook and trembled,
who barely lived a day without some fight,
who’d challenge any group of men assembled,
who raged without the slightest provocation,
letting no man win, not even the King,
who took up evil as an avocation —
I became as meek as a lamb grazing
when this Horeszko spoke. My courage lost,
as though I beheld the consecrated host.”
“How many times I tried to speak my heart;
I even tried to bow down at his feet,
until I’d see his icy gaze and start
to feel new shame, knowing I’d met defeat.
I’d introduce some new conversation,
talk of District Assemblies, or else joke;
I feared so much for my reputation.
Not me — my pride and arrogance spoke;
I couldn’t bear the insult to my family name
by stooping so low with this vain request,
having to flee when his refusal came,
from nobles who gossiped with all the rest.”
“Horeszkos refused what Soplicas deserved;
when Jacek asked, the dread black soup was served.”
“So I was lost, not knowing what to do —
I resolved to gather a small brigade,
abandon my home and fatherland too,
to fight Moscow or else the Tartar raid.
I planned to ride to Horeszko’s castle
to say goodbye; I hoped he’d see I was
a faithful partisan, almost his vassal,
so he would treat me as a good friend does,
that he’d recall the many times we drank
and fought together, knowing that I’d ride
to the ends of the earth, he’d gladly thank
me for the times we shared, side by side.
I thought that he’d relent and show he had a soul;
even a snail will show that it has horns...”
“So if there is the smallest smoldering coal
of friendship, no matter how slow it burns,
it’s sure to burst in flame at farewell,
even the coldest eye with tears will swell.”
“When his poor daughter heard that I was leaving,
she turned pale and fainted; she almost died,
unable to speak and not believing
I would abandon her. But when she cried
and tears streamed down her pallid cheeks,
I knew for certain what I’d known for weeks.”
“I wept for joy as well as for despair,
sure of her love, and her father’s answer.
I would fall at his feet — I could no longer care
what the results of my actions were.
I’d wind like a serpent around his knees;
I’d beg: ‘Let me be your son or kill me!’
The Pantler was deaf to my entreaties,
sullen, yet polite, he’d speak differently
about, what else, his very daughter’s wedding.
Consider, Gervazy, where this was heading.”
“The Pantler said he had a match arranged
with the Castellan’s son: ‘what do you think?’
He asked, ‘You are my friend.’ Was he deranged?
Had he sunk lower than a man could sink?
‘You know my daughter’s beauty and her wealth,
And her husband-to-be is from Vitebsk,
a Senator, of low rank, failing health.’
He sought my advice, but what did he expect?
I can’t remember anything I said;
I know that I mounted my horse and fled.”
“Jacek!” the Warden said, “So your excuse
is cleverly grounded, not something new.
Believe me, nothing you say will reduce
your guilt; there’s nothing you can say or do.
It’s happened more than once in history:
Someone falls in love with a King’s daughter;
he uses force — it’s such an old story.
Perhaps he kidnaps her, and then there’s slaughter.
But this is different, there’s no respite —
a Polish man in league with Muscovites.”
“That is not true, for there was no collusion,”
Jacek answered in sorrow. “I could not seize
her by force, how wrong is your allusion —
although I could have hid outside with ease
and kidnapped her, or else the castle crumbled,
left in ruins — the Dobrzyn settlement
was backing me — he would have been humbled —
four villages made up my regiment.
If only Eva was more like our women,
healthy and strong, she’d withstand the pursuit,
not frightened by the noise of a weapon.
But Eva, this poor child, barely set foot
outside the castle — for he tried to shield
this frail, faint-hearted spring caterpillar,
barley a butterfly’s larva revealed.
To take her by such force would be to kill he
r.”
“What could I do? Storm the castle? Revenge?
I felt such shame over my rejection,
Gervazy, if you knew, you’d surely cringe;
wounded pride is the Devil’s connection.”
“And this demon revealed a better plan:
I’d seek bloody revenge, but hide the cause
of my retribution from all men.
I would uproot my love, not break the laws,
cast her out of my mind, arrange to wed
another, while devising a pretext
to quarrel, and thus to leave the Pantler dead.”
“At first it seemed my plan could not be vexed.
My heart had changed; I applauded my wisdom.
The first poor girl I met I made my bride.
And from such evil, punishment would come:
I could not love her, even though I tried,
Tadeusz’s mother, devoted wife,
an honest soul — and yet my monstrous pride
strangled my heart, reviving my old strife,
unfulfilled love and animosity.
I became crazed; in vain I tried to farm
the estate, but I was drowned in self-pity.
The Devil surely introduced more harm.
I grew morose; I could not be consoled;
and from such sins, new sins will surely grow.
I drank too much and didn’t talk but growled.
Not long after, my wife died of sorrow,
leaving my son who hasn’t yet been told...”
“How much I must have loved — so many years;
no matter where I go, I can’t forget;
in front of my eyes she always appears.
I drank; the more I drank the more upset
I was. And though I journeyed far away,
I could not escape my terrible fate.
Now I’m a monk; I wear a cowl and pray,
I try to serve God, though it’s come too late.
I’m on my deathbed, wounded, covered with blood.
My dearest Eva, I’ve spoken so long;
God will forgive; I’ve done the best I could —
you know that my despair for this is wrong.”
“It was not long after Eva’s wedding:
everyone talked about the wedding day,
how when her husband handed her the ring,
she almost fainted, unable to stay
at the altar. And soon she developed
consumption, sobbing the whole day and night.
People suggested she might have eloped
with some secret love to escape her plight.
Horeszko, as always, was delighted,
and held banquets and balls for all his friends;
but I, of course, was never invited;
he couldn’t use me to achieve his ends.
My life at home was clearly scandalous;
I brought upon myself the world’s contempt,
I, whom the district once called marvelous,
who caused lords to tremble when I stamped,
whom Radziwill the Prince once called, “My Dear,”99
who left his home leading a retinue
worthy a king — whose saber struck fear
when thousands of swords my followers drew.
I could have taken any lord’s castle!
Now children of peasants would laugh at me;
I was reduced to a serf or vassal —
it was a deadly blow to my pride, you see...”
The Bernardine weakened and dropped his head;
the Warden replied with great emotion:
“God will judge the terrible life you led —
Jacek Soplica, under the hood of devotion,
I can’t believe you live as a beggar,
once ruddy and healthy, a handsome man,
whom ladies worshipped and lords would flatter,
the mustached one. I see how grief can
age a man, how little does fame matter.”
“I should have known at once — you shot the bear;
who else could aim like that, no one but you.
In all of Lithuania, none can compare;
with your cutlass, second to Maciek too.
I remember how the ladies used to sing:
They tremble when Jacek twirls his mustache;
When he knots it, they’d better start running;
Even Prince Radziwill would fear his lash.
Jacek, you tied a knot against my lord,
and now you’ve been reduced to such a state.
The mustached one living under God’s word,
collecting alms — the judgment of God is great.
And now you’ll pay for all the blood you shed;
I swore an oath the day Horeszko bled.”
The priest sat up in bed and rambled on:
“I rode to the castle, demons in my head
that fought for my heart and easily won.
Who’d believe the Pantler’d kill his child?
Just like he ruined me! Right at the gate
Satan enticed me; I looked and grew wild.
How the Pantler reveled! Though it was late,
windows were filled with candles. Drinking bouts.
Music pealed through the halls, and how I wished
the stones would crash down, dislodged by his shouts
of joy, to bury his bald head. Finished!
Think of revenge; Satan will take over;
he’ll furnish a weapon, direct all fights.
I had the thought and hid under cover;
his castle was stormed by the Muscovites.”
“There was no plot; who said that was a liar;
with Muscovites I did not conspire.”
‘I watched as different schemes passed through my mind;
laughing, crazed, like a child starting a fire.
I watched, delighted — the devil was kind —
eager for the castle to tumble down.
And once I had the thought to rescue her,
To leap through flames before the walls were gone;
I even considered saving the Pantler...”
“I was amazed by all your brave defenses;
Russians were falling all around; the beasts
shot poorly. When I came to my senses,
seeing their defeat, my anger increased;
I could not bear the Pantler’s victory.
For how could he prosper — who was so base?
I rode off cursing his illustrious glory,
when, just at dawn, I looked and saw his face
up on the balcony: his diamond buckle
glowed in the sun; he looked haughty and proud.
He twirled his mustache and seemed to chuckle.
I knew he saw me when he laughed aloud,
and stretched his arm as though to taunt and mock.
I grabbed a Russian gun and barely pressed
the trigger after releasing the lock.
I didn’t even aim. You know the rest...”
“The cursed weapon fired! How different
it is to fight with swords, to take your stand,
draw it, attack, parry with your opponent,
try to disarm or check before he can land
the blade. But take a gun, and in a flash,
the mightiest castle will fall with a crash...”
“Yet when you aimed your pistol from above,
I didn’t flinch, remember how I stared
Into the double barrels; I couldn’t move.
something pinned me to the ground; I despaired,
my life meant nothing. Why did you have to miss,
Gervazy, if only you’d caused my death,
I would not have to repent for all this.”
Father Robak then stopped to catch his breath.
“God knows,” the Warden said, ‘I took my aim.
How much blood was shed with that single shot.
Disaster after
disaster came.
It’s your fault, Jacek, I have not forgot,
and yet today when the Russians fired,
you shielded the Count, the last Horeszko.
You did more than your priestly role required,
risking your life to save me too, and though
I should be grateful, only your monk’s hood
protects you from my penknife. You are blessed;
our account is clear, I seek the common good.
God in his wisdom will deal with the rest.”
Jacek stretched out his arm; Gervazy refused
and stepped back. “I won’t have my hand defiled
by the touch of a scoundrel I’ve accused
of a murder that was vengeful and wild,
not Pro Publico Bono. But Jacek,
sinking deeper into bed, turned to the Judge;
growing more pale and trembling as though sick,
he asked the parish priest to join the assemblage.
“Don’t leave,” he said. ‘I haven’t told you all.
I will be dead, Gervazy, by nightfall.”
What’s this!’ shouted the Judge. ‘I saw the wound
today; it’s small, why fetch the parish priest,
go get the doctor — if he can be found;
perhaps he’ll tell us why the pain’s increased.”
But Robak interrupted, “It’s too late,
brother, you see, I was injured before;
it’s badly soiled and the infection’s great;
now gangrene has set in; there’s little more
than rotten flesh and clotted blood like soot.
What could a doctor do here at my bed?
I’ll give back my soul, now or later, but
Warden, please forgive me before I’m dead.”
“And through all this I refused to betray
my country, and though branded a traitor,
I served my nation every single day,
surely my arrogance was not greater...”
.............................
“When I rode by the neighbors turned away
as though I brought the plague; my old friends fled,
they greeted me from afar or shunned me.
And so I also lived in constant dread
that some poor peasant or some Jew would see
me bow, and pause and give a laughing sneer.
The word traitor attached itself to me;
I heard it in the fields, echoes so clear,
they haunted me; from dawn to dusk that phrase
hovered above just like a spot before
a sick man’s eye, darkening all my days —
And yet, and yet, I wasn’t a traitor...”
.............................
“Moscow supported this accusation;
they thought that I was one of their partisans
and gave Soplicas remuneration,
a part of the dead man’s wealth and his lands.
Adam Mickiewicz Collected Poetical Works Page 35