Pan Tadeusz
Page 30
But there are precedents. I recall cases
With worse transgressions than our own excesses,
Yet articles of marriage led to peace.
The Borzdobohatys and Łopot settled thus;
The Krepsztuls and Kupścies, Kwileckis and Turno,
Mackiewicz and the Odynieces; Putrament and Pikturno.
Indeed, there were worse clashes of opinion
Than ours, dividing Pole and Lithuanian,
Till Queen Jadwiga made a clever play
And solved things in a non-litigious way.
“It’s good if there’s a marriageable daughter
Or widow—then hopes for compromise are better.
Cases with Catholic priests, or close relations,
Are worst, for then there can be solutions
Through marriage. Which is why the Poles and Russians—
Descendants of Lech and Rus, brother and brother—
Are constantly at strife with one another;
Why Lithuania kept legally taking on
The Teutonic Order—till Jagiełło won.
And, lastly, why the Rymszas’ famous suing
Of the Dominicans was so long in doing
Till victory went to the friars’ lawyer Dymsza,
Hence the phrase: ‘Lord God’s mightier than Lord Rymsza.’
I’d add: mead’s mightier than Jackknife, sir.”
He raised his glass to the Steward sitting there.
This moved Gerwazy. “True, too true,” he said.
“Our Lithuania, our Poland—strange indeed
Has been their fate! Like man and wife, united
By God, then by the Devil separated!
Brother Protazy—what our eyes have seen!
And now the Poles have come to us again!
I myself fought beside them way back when;
I well recall those brave confederate men.
If the late Pantler had but lived to see it!
Oh Jacek, Jacek! But no tears; so be it.
Since Poland and Lithuania now are teamed,
Then all the rest is reconciled, redeemed.”
“How strange,” declared Protazy, “that last year
This Zosia, whose hand Tadeusz is asking for,
Was the subject of an omen plain to spy.”
“‘Miss Zofia’ we should call her, you and I,”
The Steward put in. “Not only is she of age,
She’s the Pantler’s grandchild, of fine parentage.”
“Anyway,” Protazy went on, “as if in the skies
Her fate was told—I saw it with my own eyes.
One holiday here the serving folk were sitting
Sipping their mead; two sparrows who’d been fighting
Came clattering from the eaves—both old, both male.
The slightly younger one’s throat was gray and dull;
The other’s was black. Tumbling across the yard,
Two little balls of dust now, still they sparred.
The servants whispered that the black one there
Should be Horeszko, and his challenger
Soplica. When the gray one was on top
They’d shout: ‘Hurrah Soplica! Beat him up!’
When he was down, they called: ‘Go, gentry, go!
Don’t lose your honor to an aristo!’
Laughing, we watched to see who’d win. But then
Young Zosia, overcome with pity, ran
And placed her hand over the jousting knights.
Such doggedness was in those tiny mites—
They fought on in her fingers, plumage flying.
The women, watching Zosia, were quietly saying
That this girl’s fate was clearly to restore
Peace to two families so long at war.
I see the women’s prophecy’s come to be.
Back then they meant the Count, admittedly,
And not Tadeusz.”
To this the Steward responded:
“This world holds things that can’t be comprehended.
I’ll tell you something else—not quite as curious
As the omen, true, yet all the same mysterious.
Back then, you know, it would have brought me joy
To kill each last Soplica. But that boy—
Tadeusz—I always liked him. I took note
That when he and the other young ones fought,
He’d always win. So every time he’d run
Up to the castle, I would urge him on
To ever harder tasks. Whatever he’d do—
Catch pigeons in the tower, take mistletoe
From an oak, or—to reach a crow’s nest—climb
The tallest pine tree—he’d succeed each time.
‘He’s born under a lucky star—too bad,’
I’d think, ‘he’s a Soplica!’ Now he’ll wed
My lady, Miss Zofia—and the castle’s his!”
They lapsed into their separate reveries
And quietly drank, though now and then they said:
“Yes, yes, Gerwazy!” “Protazy, yes indeed!”
They sat by the kitchen window. Smoky haze
Was pouring from it, as if from some great blaze.
Then, through the billows a cook’s apron, white
And gleaming, flashed like a she-dove into sight.
Above them, head stuck quietly through the smoke,
The Warden had been listening to their talk.
He passed sponge biscuits on a saucer to them,
Saying, “These go well with mead. And as you chew them
I’ll tell the story of an altercation
That could have led to bloody confrontation,
When Rejtan tricked the Prince of Nassau once
While they were hunting—that experience
Cost me my health almost, I ought to note.
I’ll tell you how I settled their dispute.”
Here, though, the cooks came with a pressing matter:
Who should arrange the condiments on their platter?
The Warden left. Musing, the two old men
Drank on and turned to the garden once again.
The maid and the handsome uhlan had remained,
Talking. He had her palm in his left hand
(His right was in a sling, making it clear
That he’d been wounded). He was saying to her:
“Zofia, before we can exchange our rings
You have to tell me—I need to know these things.
Last winter you already were prepared
To pledge—then, though, I didn’t accept your word.
What use could a forced promise be to me?
Back then I’d only been here fleetingly,
And furthermore I lacked the arrogance
To think you’d love me at a single glance.
I’m not vain; however long it needs,
I’d rather earn your favor with my deeds.
Today you’ve graciously renewed your vow;
Yet what can I have done to win it now?
Perhaps you’re driven, not by sentiment,
But pressure from my uncle and your aunt?
Marriage, though, is a weighty thing indeed,
Zosia; follow your heart, and pay no heed
To your aunt’s coaxings, uncle’s threats as well.
If friendliness for me is all you feel
Then our engagement ought to be deferred.
I’d never force you, Zosia, to give your word.
We’ll wait, especially that since yesterday
I’m with the local regiment—I’ll stay
As an instructor till my wounds are mended.
So, dearest Zosia?”
To this Zosia responded,r />
Head raised, eyes fixed on his eyes bashfully:
“I’ve rather forgotten how things used to be.
I know they all said I should marry you,
And what my elders wished, and heaven too,
I always accepted.” She went on to say,
Looking down: “Remember how you went away
That stormy night when Father Robak died?
I saw how hard it was for you. I spied
A tear in your eye, and I confess: that tear
Entered my heart. Since then I’ve been quite sure
Of our attachment; when I’d say a prayer
In your intention, you’d be standing by
With that big teardrop glistening in your eye.
Then the Chamberlain’s wife took me along with her
To Vilna, and we spent the winter there.
But I missed Soplicowo, and the room
Where we first met, and where you’d later come
To say goodbye. Somehow the thought of you,
Like an autumn-planted seedling, grew and grew
All winter in my heart, till, as I say,
I realized that every single day
I missed that room, and something breathed to me
That I’d find you there again—which came to be.
And so I’d speak your name to one and all—
This was in Vilna, during carnival.
The girls said I’m in love; well, if it’s true
That I love someone, surely it is you.”
Hearing her words, Tadeusz was content.
They left the garden arm in arm and went
Up to that chamber—now a lady’s—where
Tadeusz once had lived, ten years before.
The Notary, dressed to the nines, was there today,
Attending to his lady fiancée,
Handing her powders, little flasks and pots,
And signet rings, and chains, and beauty spots.
He watched her with a smile, triumphantly.
Her work now almost done, his bride-to-be
Gazed in the mirror to consult the Graces.
The maids were freshening their mistress’ tresses
With curling irons or, kneeling on the floor,
Were working on the ruffles that she wore.
While the Notary stood at his intended’s chair
The cook’s boy tapped the pane: there was a hare!
It’d left the osiers, crossed the field, and hidden
Among the vegetables growing in the garden.
It could be flushed from the seedbeds and tracked down,
With the hounds positioned so it couldn’t run.
Assessor, with Falcon’s collar, was scuttling out;
Notary called Bobtail quickly and followed suit.
Men and hounds stationed by the fence, the Warden,
Fly swatter firm in hand, entered the garden.
He swished it, stamped, and clapped to scare the hare.
The houndsmen held the dogs, pointing to where
The creature moved, and clicked their tongues discreetly.
The hounds, ears pricked, lifted their noses mutely
Into the wind, anxiously quivering,
Like two twin arrows on a single string.
The Warden then cried: “Sick him!” The hare had wheeled,
Slipped through the fence and run into the field.
Falcon and Bobtail dashed directly at it
From two sides, like a bird’s two wings; they caught it
And sunk their teeth like talons in its spine.
The creature gave a single doleful whine
Like a newborn child! The houndsmen came. The hare
Was dead; the hounds tore its white belly fur.
The hunters patted their dogs. The Warden then
Took the hunting knife strapped to his belt, bent down
And cut the hare’s feet off. “Both dogs equally
Deserve this token of proficiency,”
He said, “each swift and powerful as the other—
Like Pac and his palace, they belong together,
The hunter just as worthy as the hound.
So then: your long, fierce quarrel’s at an end.
You asked me to see that justice should be done,
Now here’s my verdict: both of you have won.
Each of you, take your pledge back; you’d do best
To make your peace.”
At the old man’s request
The hunters’ gazes met; their faces shined,
And they shook hands that long had not been joined.
“I had pledged horse and tack,” said the Notary,
“And given this ring as arbitrator’s fee—
A promise guaranteed by legal deed.
A pledge, once uttered, cannot be unsaid.
Warden, please keep the ring as souvenir.
Engrave your name there—or, if you prefer,
Put the Hreczecha crest. The sard’s unspoiled,
The ring itself eleven-karat gold.
The uhlans took the horse; the horse tack, though,
I kept. It’s praised by people in the know
As snug, and stout, and handsome as you will.
The seat is narrow, in Turk or Cossack style.
The pommel’s set with precious stones; the seat
Is lined with heavy silk to soften it.
The rider sits deep in the saddle tree
On a smooth cushion, comfy as can be.
And when you gallop” (Notary Bolesta, who
Loved acting things out, as everybody knew,
Feigned mounting on a horse, and set off lolloping
Across the room, pretending he was galloping)
“—And when you gallop, the caparison
Gleams like gold droplets splashing in the sun,
For the silk cloth has gold threads running through,
And the broad silver stirrups are gilded too.
The straps of the bridle and the harness shimmer
Where rows of mother-of-pearl buttons glimmer;
The breastplate shows a moon lying on its back,
Like the Leliwa crest. This curious tack—
Captured upon Podhajce field, they say,
From some renowned, high-ranking Turkish bey—
Is yours, Assessor: a mark of my esteem.”
Pleased at the gift, the Assessor answered him:
“I’d staked my rare dog collars, given to me
By Prince Sanguszko—garnished splendidly
With golden studs, and covered in shagreen,
With their silk leash, its worksmanship as fine
As the bright jewel it bears. I’d purposed them
In legacy for my children, who will come,
No doubt—you know my wedding is today.
But in exchange for your gift, Notary,
Please do accept these items—they’ll remind us
Of the years-long dispute that’s now behind us
And ended for us both so honorably.
Between us now may there be harmony!”
Then they went in to tell those gathered there
That Bobtail and Falcon’s quarrel was no more.
A rumor claimed the hare came from the Warden,
Who’d raised it himself, then loosed it in the garden
To end the conflict with an easy kill.
He’d done it so discretely, with such skill,
That all of Soplicowo had been fooled.
Years afterward, the cook’s boy finally told,
Seeking to stir the rivalry of old.
The Warden, though, denied it through and through
And not one person thought the story true.
&
nbsp; At table in the castle hall together
Awaiting dinner, the guests talked with each other.
The Judge, in his official uniform,
Came in with Tadeusz, and Zofia on his arm.
Tadeusz, left hand to his temple pressed,
Saluted his commanders as he passed.
Zofia, her eyes cast downward, features flushed,
Curtseyed to all those present as she blushed
(Her aunt had taught her how to curtsey nicely).
She wore a betrothal wreath—was dressed precisely,
In fact, as at the chapel, when she’d given
A springtime sheaf to honor the Queen of Heaven.
She’d cut another sheaf for the visitors;
With her right hand she passed out grasses, flowers,
Her left straightening the sickle that she wore.
Each general kissed her hand and took a flower.
Zosia, still blushing, curtseyed to her elders.
Then General Kniaziewicz took her by the shoulders,
Kissed her paternally, then raised her up
And placed her smartly on the table top.
Eveyone present cried “Bravo!” and clapped;
Her figure and her beauty left them rapt,
And, too, her simple Lithuanian dress—
For all these leaders, who in homelessness
Had wandered the world over, near and far,
The national costume had a strange allure,
Reminding them of many a long-gone year
And long-lost love; at the table now, eyes raised,
And almost brought to tears, they gazed and gazed.
Some asked Zosia to slightly lift her head
And show her eyes; some asked, if she agreed,
To spin about. The modest girl turned round,
But shyly hid her eyes behind her hand.
Tadeusz watched with a smile of happiness.
Whether she’d been advised to wear that dress,
Or led by instinct (girls can always tell
Intuitively what will suit them well)—
In any case, for the very first time that morning
She had been scolded by her aunt for spurning
Fashionable clothing; but with tears she’d won
Permission to keep her simple outfit on.
The skirts were long and white, on top of them
A short green camlet gown with a pink hem.
The bodice too was green; across her chest
Pink ribbons held the bosom snugly laced
Like a flower bud nestling safe among its leaves.
Billowing from her shoulders, two white sleeves
Shone like a butterfly’s wings spread wide for flight,
The wrists held in by drawstrings and tied tight.
The blouse was narrow at the collar too—