Adam Mickiewicz Collected Poetical Works

by Adam Mickiewicz

Falcon and Bobtail fall onto the hare

  from either side; a cloud of dust surrounds

  the prey, as dogs seem to fly through the air,

  sinking their teeth, like claws into its back.

  The hare cries out just once, pitifully,

  as hunters run to witness the attack,

  and hounds tear at the flesh of its belly.

  The owners stroke their dogs; the Seneschal

  takes out his hunting knife, cuts off the feet

  and says, “both hounds have proved to be equal;

  so both deserve a leg, the victor’s treat.

  Both share the glory for running this race:

  The Palace of Prince Pac is quite worthy;

  And Prince Pac is worthy of his palace.103

  The hound of the hunter is quite worthy,

  and the hunter is worthy of his hound.

  This long and vehement quarrel is done;

  I, whom you chose as stakeholder, have found

  both hounds equal. My verdict: both have won.

  Let me return the stakes to both of you;

  sign the agreement.” The hunters were pleased

  and joined their hands, attempting to renew

  a long broken friendship that almost ceased.

  “My stake was a horse and caparison,”

  the Notary said. “And the authorities

  have it in writing; and the Judge has one

  ring in deposit that accompanies

  the wager. Let the Seneschal accept

  as a reminder of this incident;

  let him engrave the Hreczecha crest

  on it, or his own name. In any event,

  the cornelian is flawless and the gold

  eleven karats. Unfortunately,

  the Ulhans commandeered the horse that I’ve extolled,

  but the caparison they left to me.

  Experts praise it for its strength and comfort;

  it is a work of art — the saddle, thin

  like the Cossacks at the Ottoman Court:

  on the pommel, precious stones are set in;

  the seat is covered with a damask pad;

  it’s soft as down to mount; you feel as though

  in your own bed, and you’ll be glad

  to know that when you gallop.” And to show

  just what he meant, Bolesta the Nortary,

  very fond of grand gestures, spread his feet

  as though he had mounted a horse, his body

  bent to imitate a galloping retreat.

  “And when you go,” he continued, “sparks fly;

  you’d think the horse was dripping bits of gold,

  because the sidebands are so thickly set;

  the silver stirrups from an ancient mold;

  the leather straps, the bridle and the bit

  have mother-of-pearl buttons and studs;

  a crescent in the shape of a new moon

  adorns the brass breastplate. It’s said these goods,

  the whole outfit, in fact, was captured soon

  after the Turks were defeated at Lvov.

  And so, dear Sheriff, please accept these things;

  of my esteem for you, these are the proof.”

  “Your gift,” replied the Sheriff, “truly brings

  me joy, almost as much as what I stood

  for this wager — my precious dog collar,

  Prince Sanguszko’s gift, a token of good

  friendship. It is covered with alligator

  skin, in-laid with golden spikes, the leash

  is woven silk. I’d say the workmanship

  is just as precious as the gem-filled mesh.

  You know just how I feel about kinship:

  I hoped my children would inherit it,

  and though I have none now, I do intend…

  My wedding is today, but I admit

  I’d be more pleased to see it in your hand.

  I humbly give this collar to you now,

  dear Notary, for what you’ve given me,

  and also to remind us of this row,

  that’s been concluded so honorably.”

  And saying this, the Sheriff gave a bow.

  Both men returned, and at the manor table,

  announced to all that Falcon and Bobtail

  were both fine hounds, deserving of that label,

  that his dispute, unlike the Judge’s food, was stale.

  It was rumored the hare the hounds had captured

  the Seneschal raised at home, and slyly

  released in the garden — that he insured

  this reconciliation, and that while he

  thought he fooled all at Soplica’s estate,

  a few years later, the cook’s young servant

  brought it up, hoping to stir debate.

  But that’s as far as the charge ever went:

  the Notary and Sheriff changed their style,

  and no one doubted the Seneschal’s denial.

  Now in the castle hall the guests assembled,

  awaiting the Judge’s worthy banquet.

  The Judge entered — his uniform resembled

  what Senators wore when the Diet met.

  Tadeusz followed, escorting his bride,

  saluting his commanding officers,

  giving a military bow. He tried

  to present Zosia, though her step faltered —

  blushing, her eyes lowered, till finally she

  curtsied. (She’d learned what Telimena taught.)

  A wreath was placed on her head carefully;

  she’d worn these same clothes when she brought

  the spring-green sheaf to church this morning

  to honor the Virgin. Now, for these guests,

  she reaped once more — one hand distributing

  grass and flowers, while the sickle which rests

  on her brow she adjusts. The Generals

  eagerly take the plants and kiss her hand;

  she curtsies once more to their greeting calls,

  blushing as though responding to command.

  General Kniaziewicz reached for her hand,

  and after planting a fatherly kiss,

  lifted her onto the table to stand.

  Everyone clapped, shouting, “Bravo!” at this,

  charmed by the girl’s beauty and her bearing,

  but also her Lithuanian costume,

  for these Generals, who lived a wayfaring

  life, wandering so long away from home,

  found this national dress quite inspired,

  reminding them of youth, now so long gone —

  and their ancient loves that no longer fired.

  With tears they circle the table; not one

  is unmoved, as they gaze with curiosity.

  While some ask Zosia to raise up her eyes,

  others ask her to turn. It is with pity

  and bashfulness that she finally complies.

  Whether Zosia had been advised to dress

  that way, or whether she knew from instinct

  (for girls will always know how to impress),

  in other ways this day was quite distinct

  for her: it marked the first time in her life

  her Aunt had scolded, calling her stubborn,

  since she refused (thus creating much strife)

  to don what fashion dictates must be worn.

  Although she wept so much her way prevailed,

  and Telimena’s reign at long last failed.

  Zosia was dressed in a white underskirt;

  her tunic had been sewn from green camlet,

  bordered with pink. The vest was green and short,

  though long pink ribbons from the waist were set

  about the neck, which also had fine lace.

  And under this vest, her breast was nestled

  just like a bud beneath a leaf, in place.

  with each movement, her full white sleeves rustled

  like wings of a butterfly testing
its flight.

  These sleeves were thickly gathered at her wrist,

  and knotted ribbons held her collar tight.

  Her earrings, which none of the viewers missed,

  were artfully carved from sour cherry pits,

  two tiny hearts with arrows and a flame.

  Dobrzynski, the Sack, took much pride in its

  fine handiwork. And one time when he came

  to visit Zosia, he made a gift of them.

  Two strands of amber hung from her collar;

  a wreath of rosemary green and its stem

  adorned her brow; her braids fell back over

  her shoulders, and on her lovely pale brow

  (for such is the custom during harvest)

  she placed a small sickle that seemed to glow,

  so freshly polished was the blade. A guest

  might see Goddess Diana in her stead,

  the new moon shining above her forehead.

  While officers showed their admiration,

  one pulled a portfolio from his vest,

  and then he began his preparation:

  he unrolled paper, ignoring the rest,

  and sharpened his pencil and moistened it.

  Looking at Zosia, he began to draw.

  The Judge barely noticed his sketching kit,

  Though he recognized the artist he saw,

  even dressed in a Colonel’s uniform:

  the rich epaulets, his short Spanish beard,

  along with this truly Ulhan-like form;

  his former bearing had not disappeared.

  “Dear Count,” he said, “I see you wear a pen

  right on your cartridge belt.” And sure enough,

  it was the youthful Count, who had often

  promised to fight, though his skills had grown rough;

  he’d raised a whole cavalry regiment,

  so vast his wealth. And he’d already shown

  valor in battle; the Emperor sent

  orders to raise his rank and make it known

  the Count was now the regiment’s Colonel.

  Wishing to offer his congratulation,

  the Judge called out — although his greeting fell

  upon deaf ears. The Count pursued his avocation.

  Meanwhile, a second couple made their way:

  the Sheriff, who’d been faithful to the Tsar,

  now served Napoleon, though barely a day

  had passed since he wore the Commander’s star

  for a squadron of gendarmes. Dressed in blue

  with Polish facings, his curved saber dragging,

  he clinked his spurs, coming into full view.

  His finely dressed bride, a few steps lagging

  behind, walked, both solemn and dignified.

  for she was Tekla, the Seneschal’s daughter.

  The Sheriff was forced to swallow his pride;

  though he loved Telimena, he caught her

  one too many times playing the coquette;

  so he dropped her, wishing to cause her grief,

  and sought out Tekla to help him forget;

  and she provided him with much relief,

  and though not young, she still knew how to dance —

  a good housekeeper, capable and smart,

  richly dowered from her inheritance.

  Her ancestral village was just a part;

  a gift from the Judge had increased her chance.

  The group waited in vain for the third pair;

  the Judge impatiently sent his servants,

  who now returned: “While chasing that last hare,”

  one reported, “the bridegroom had poor sense

  and brought his wedding ring, which now was lost

  in the meadow.” And so, the Notary,

  almost ready to wed, crossed and re-crossed

  his path in vain. Meanwhile, his bride-to-be

  slowly prepared, not wishing to hurry

  or hastily get dressed. Near her, a flock

  of ladies rushed about in a flurry;

  she’d barely be ready by four o’clock.

  BOOK 12. LET US LOVE ONE ANOTHER!

  The last old Polish banquet – The centerpiece – An explanation of its figures – Transformations – Dombrowski’s gifts – More about the Penknife – Kniaziewicz receives a gift – Tadeusz’ first official act after receiving his inheritance – Gervazy’s remarks – Concert of concerts – Polonaise – Let us love one another!

  A thundering crash — the great door opened;

  the Seneschal entered, wearing a hat,

  his head held high. Yet he did not extent

  greeting, and he failed to take the spot that

  he usually claimed: for today he appeared

  in new character — Marshall of the Court,

  and using his official staff, he steered

  the guests, starting with those of great import,

  directly to the places he assigned,

  just like a master of ceremonies.

  He circled and he led, his path designed

  to accommodate the authorities

  first — so the Wojewoda’s Official

  took the most prominent spot a velvet chair

  with ivory arms, cushions lush and full,

  to his left, Kniaziewicz, Pac, Malochowski,

  and the handsome wife of the high Official.

  Farther back sat officers and ladies,

  young and old, arranged by the Seneschal

  in alternating pairs, trying to please.

  Among this group landowners were included,

  placed where order and decorum suited.

  Meanwhile, the Judge had politely withdrawn

  from the banquet, and by the road outside,

  was talking to some peasants on the lawn.

  He led them to a table set beside

  the garden, seating himself at one end,

  placing the parish priest at the other.

  Tadeusz and Zosia did not intend

  to sit and feast; instead they rushed to gather

  food and drink, eating as they walked, to serve

  the seated peasants, for custom bespoke

  that new lords and ladies of the manor observe

  this rule: First you must serve the common folk.

  Inside the guests who waited for their food

  were marveling at the great centerpiece,

  whose precious metal and workmanship stood

  at equal level, value never to decrease.

  According to legend, Prince Radziwill

  The Orphan had to order it from the Venice104

  court, to be adorned in the Polish style.

  The centerpiece had later disappeared

  back when the Swedes invaded the nation,

  yet it mysteriously reappeared

  in this country gentleman’s mansion.

  And now it had been polished for the meal;

  placed on the table — huge as a coach wheel.

  The centerpiece was completely coated

  from rim to rim with sugar and meringue,

  as though a fake winter landscape floated

  in mid-air. A dark forest was growing

  in the center, groves of rich confection;

  on either side were different homes and huts,

  a peasant village, and at close inspection,

  a settlement which a manor abuts.

  They were not covered with hoarfrost or ice,

  but sugar spun into a snowy froth.

  Tiny porcelain figures further entice

  the eye, which, by now, is totally loath

  to look away; for all these figures wear

  Polish costumes — and their poses depict

  some great event. They were made with such care;

  you’d think that they might cry if they were pricked.

  The guests were curious — what do they show?

  The Seneschal rose, starting to explain;

  he spoke and
the vodka began to flow:

  “With your permission, honored gentlemen

  and ladies, the countless figures you see

  depict the history of the Polish

  District Assemblies — voting, victory,

  triumph, dispute. So let me explain this,

  for I have guessed the meaning of this scene.”

  “There, on the right, countless nobles gather

  to feast, before the Diet will convene;

  although the banquet is prepared, they’d rather

  stand in groups, hold counsel, deliberate —

  a man right in the center of each pack,

  while those around him listen and debate;

  their eyes were open wide, jaws hanging slack.

  An arm is waving in the air — something

  new is expounded by an orator;

  see how his finger explicates, marking

  on his palm. Each orator is speaking for

  his own candidate, and his impression

  can be read auditors’ expression.”

  “There, in another group, a noble stands,

  hand thrust into his belt, as urgently,

  he listens to the orator’s demands.

  another cups his ear and silently

  twirls his long mustache, taking in the speech,

  storing it deep in memory for now.

  The orator is pleased that his words reach

  receptive ears — he has converts. To show

  he’s sure, he pats the pockets of his coat,

  for inside them he seems to have their vote.”

  “Another group, and something else takes place;

  the speaker grabs his listener by the belt.

  They pull away and each one turns his face;

  one bristles with the anger that he felt;

  he shakes his fist to halt the speaker’s tongue;

  apparently, the praises he believes

  were ones that for another candidate were sung.

  And so this man, dropping his forehead, heaves

  his body like a bull at the speaker,

  who tries to seize him by the horn.

  And since, of course, one of them is weaker,

  swords are drawn, while others flee in alarm.”

  “Another gentleman, off to the side,

  tries to remain neutral, but vacillates.

  Then, closing his eyes, he lets fate decide

  his vote: he lets his fingers halt debates;

  if his thumbs meet, he’ll vote affirmative,

  but if they miss, he’ll cast a negative.”

  “Behind that scene, a convent dining hall

  has been transformed by noblemen to hold

  a District Assembly. After roll call,

  the old men sit on benches, while the bold

  young nobles, standing, gaze over their heads,

  curious to see the District Marshall,

  who raises up an urn and then proceeds