Adam Mickiewicz Collected Poetical Works
Page 37
They fall upon the heads, praying in kind,
spilling all of their abundant fragrance —
just like a priest at Mass waving incense.
Soon the sermon and the Mass ended;
the Chamberlain addressed the gathering.
He had just been chosen and commended
by the Confederates; and now, this spring,
he was the Confederation’s new Marshall,
pleased to wear a Senator’s uniform:
the gold-embroidered tunic wasn’t all;
his fringed robe was gros-de-tours in form,
his massive belt was gold brocade, a sword
hung from it, hilt fashioned from lizard skin;
a diamond pin by his collar was moored,
a square-top hat, white, with feathers tucked in;
costly bunches of herons’ crests and egrets’
sat on his head. This hat was only worn
on festival days, for many ducats
were needed to replace a tuft once torn.
So thus attired, he stepped up on a mound
and gathered peasants and soldiers around.
“Brothers, the priest proclaimed from the pulpit,
the Emperor will restore to the crown
our lost freedom, and he will unite it
with the Lithuanian Duchy. So one
nation will fight against the Moscovite.
The Diet has already reconvened;
you heard the official decree last night,
but now some words, for I wish to amend
some rumors concerning the Soplicas,
affecting what the nobility does.”
“Everyone’s heard of Soplica’s crime:
his sins are widely known and talked about,
but now I think it is the proper time
to tell what I have heard, beyond all doubt,
from the Generals here in our presence.
Jacek did not die, as was reported,
in Rome, although he perished in some sense —
he abandoned his former life, so sordid,
changed his name and calling. His offence
against God and country has been redeemed
by his holy life and deeds so esteemed.”
“At Hohenlinden, when Richepanse
was half-wiped out, and preparing to retreat,101
unaware that at a close distance,
Kniaziewicz’s men were waiting to greet
their ally, Jacek, called Robak the priest,
ventured amid flying arrows and spears,
carrying news, although the fire increased,
to tell how Poles had just attacked the rear.
Later in Spain, when our Ulhans captured
Samosiera, the fortified hill,102
by Kozietulski’s side, he was injured
two times. Later, he wandered about, still
risking danger, a trusted emissary
with secret instructions, to examine
the popular current in the country,
and to establish groups of clandestine
societies. When he finally returned
to his home, he planned the insurrection —
Jacek Soplica was to be honored
and given the Legion’s highest award.”
“Today I proclaim the official word —
the Emperor has given his reprieve.
The blot has been removed, the new accord
now clears Jacek Soplica’s name; he will receive
the title, True Patriot of Poland.
So now, if anyone dares to recall
that ancient deed, I issue this command:
that heinous act has been redeemed, all
guilt expiated. Those who denigrate
his family are subject to punishment,
Gravis Notae Maculae. This I state,
fully authorized by the government.
According to the act signed on this date,
now that equality exists — judgment
affects both soldier and newly ennobled
citizen, peasant, and town resident.
For this new law has been extolled
in Articles of Confederation,
and duly proclaimed across the nation.”
“Regarding the Legion of Honor Cross,
although it comes too late, that won’t decrease
the glory and won’t diminish the loss.
If Jacek could never attain such peace,
let this award grant it in death. I’ll place
it on his grave, remaining there seven
days, and then the chapel wall it will grace,
a votive offering to God in heaven.”
Having said this, he walked to Jacek’s grave
and hung from the modest cross the order,
knotted with cockles and ribbons. He gave
the badge (white star, gold crown) its new quarters;
the star rays glittered in the daylight sun,
the final glow of Jacek’s earthly life.
The others knelt and prayed in unison
the Angelus: “There will be peace from strife.”
The Chamberlain replied, “Forgive a sinner.”
The Judge extended his invitation
that all might attend the evening dinner,
already in its final preparation.
Two old men sat outside the house, tankards
of strong mead resting on their knees; they gazed
past the bright-colored budding poppies, towards
the lawn, where the Ulhan’s red head-dress raised
its glittering colors like a sunflower
with its rooster feathers and gilded metal.
A girl stood beside him in the bower,
her dress as green as rue, eyes like the petal
of a violet — closely watching this Ulhan,
and children picking flowers by the fence,
who turned away and rushed right through the garden,
afraid to interrupt this lovers’ conference.
The old men drink their mead and dip their snuff
from a bark case, continuing their chat.
“Yes, yes, Protazy, it is true enough,”
said the Warden. “I can agree with that,”
replied Protazy the Apparitor.
“Yes,” they repeated in unison, “Yes,”
nodding their heads. “You know, I’m not so sure
I could have foreseen this outcome unless
I recall other, even stranger, suits.
Yes, there are precedents, worse outrages,
worse excesses and unending disputes
resolved by marriage. They’re all in the pages
of the Court Record, Borzodobohat
reconciled with Lopat; and the Krepsztuls
with Kupsci; after it Putrament sat
with Pikturna; Odyniec no longer duals
with Mackiewicz, and Turno with Kwilecki.
But wait, there’s more, Poles have been embroiled
with Lithuanians more violently
than Horeszkos and Soplicas — reconciled
when Queen Jadwiga settled the matter
outside the courts. It’s best when both parties
have something to bargain with; I’d rather
reconcile with widows or young ladies;
then it’s easy to strike a compromise.
Lengthy lawsuits occur within the church
or when there are very close family ties;
when marriage is impossible, the search
is long. And it will never be resolved
when Poles and Russians try to litigate,
though both from brothers Lech and Rus evolved..
When Lithuania took the Teutonic state
to court, the princes only won their suit
when King Jagiello finally intervened
to settle for once this unending dispute.
Another famous case was
once convened
between Rzymszas and the Dominicans,
until Prince Dymsza, the convent’s lawyer
won the suit, upsetting Rzymsza’s plans.
From this we say: The Lord God is greater
Than Lord Rymsza. I praise this new accord.
I’ll taste your mead instead of your penknife.”
Saying this he lifted up the tankard
wishing the Warden a long, healthy life.
“True,” the Warden replied with emotion.
“Is Poland’s fate truly strange and harried;
and Lithuania’s strong devotion
to Warsaw makes them like an old married
couple. What God has joined Satan will tear apart;
God has his own and so has the devil.
Oh, Protazy, soon we shall see the start
of a new world, the end of all this evil.
We’ll see our brothers from the Kingdom,
those whom many years ago I served;
we’ll greet the confederates when they come.
My deceased master, the Pantler, deserved
to see this day — why did Jacek kill him?
But let’s not cry; the Union of Poland
and Lithuania is no more a whim —
everything has been discussed and planned.”
“It’s also strange,” the Apparitor said,
“regarding our Zosia, whose very hand
Tadeusz requests, for last year, instead
of proposals, we had a strange omen,
like a sign from heaven.”
“Now we must call
her Pani Zofija,” broke in the Warden.
“She’s already grown so lovely and tall;
she is Lord Horeszko’s only grand-daughter.”
“This augury, “Protazy continued,
“I saw myself, as well as what comes after.
Last year our servants were eating their food,
drinking their mead during a holiday.
Two fighting sparrows fell down from the attic;
both males — the younger one had a gray
band around its neck, the other black.
They continued to scuffle in the yard,
turning over, tumbling into the dust.
I watched: the servants’ whispers could be heard;
they said the black one was the Count. I trust
they meant the gray to stand for Soplica.
So when the gray one was on top they shouted,
‘Vivat Soplica, that Horeszko’s
coward’ But when the gray seemed to be routed,
‘Get up!’ they yelled, ‘Don’t lose to this magnate,
for this would surely shame a gentleman.’
We laughed, waiting for the fight to abate,
which bird would win — or which man.
then our little Zosia, feeling pity,
covered the fierce warriors with her palm,
though they still fought with such intensity,
tufts of feathers flew. She was calm,
but watching her, all the old wives gossiped,
she’d be the one to help them reconcile.
Today I see that Zosia will fulfill
this prophecy, though if I had to guess,
they figured on the Count, not Tadeusz.”
“Who can fathom the strange things that occur?”
the Warden asked. “It’s not miraculous,
but nonetheless, there is another matter
hard to understand. You know how garrulous
I’ve been, you know much I’ve longed to drown
the whole Soplica family — yet this lad,
Tadeusz, how I’ve watched him as he’s grown;
I’ve always been fond of him, always glad
to see him at the caste. I always
urged him on to difficult stunts and feats,
and he’d succeed by devising new ways:
when he dislodged doves from the tower heights,
or plucked the mistletoe from the large oak,
or tried to tear a crow’s nest from a pine.
He could do anything, I’d often joke,
too bad he wasn’t in Horeszko’s line,
and what a shame he was a Soplica.
He might have been the castle’s only heir;
now he’ll be the husband of Zofija.”
The two old men broke off their talk to stare
wistfully, though at times they could be heard:
“Yes, my dear Gervazy, yes…”
“Yes, my dear
Protazy, yes…” The turf bench in the yard
on which they sat adjoined the kitchen wall;
from an open window, steam filled the air,
billowing like a conflagration. When all
the smoke was gone, a white chef’s hat was there,
flitting like a dove. It was the Seneschal,
who stuck his head out through the kitchen window,
eavesdropping on this private conversation.
Finally, he handed them a plate with two
biscuits. “Have this cake with your libation,”
He said, “and listen while I tell the rest:
a quarrel which we thought would end in blood,
while hunting in the Naliboki forest.
at that time Prince Rejtan truly thought he could
play a trick on his friend Prince deNassau.
It almost cost his life; I’ll tell you how
I reconciled the gentlemen and saw
them part as friends.” Although he spoke so slow,
the cook broke in to ask if he was able
to explain how he should set the table.
The Seneschal withdrew; the old men downed
their mead and wistfully returned their gaze
to the lawn where the handsome Ulhan frowned,
conversing with the girl who seemed to praise
this youth, clearly wounded in some fighting,
his arm bandaged, supported by a sling.
“Zosia, you absolutely must tell me
before exchanging rings; I must be sure.
Last winter you told me that you were ready,
but at that time I couldn’t accept your
pledge, because I felt that I had forced your will.
I’ve only spent a little time at home;
I’m not so vain to think you’d wait until
I came — that my glance might suffice the time I roam
throughout the world, having kindled your love.
I’m not a braggart, though I wished to secure
your affections and wandered off to fight the war.
You’ve been magnanimous; your pledge still stands;
perhaps you’re choosing me not out of love,
but out of duty, following commands.
Marriage is not something by which you prove
your loyalty; take counsel of your heart;
ignore your Uncle’s threats, your Aunt’s entreaties.
I do not wish to force myself on you;
I heard last night that I will be around
a longer time; I will instruct a new
regiment, recovering from my wound.”
Zosia raised her head and eyes timidly,
“I can’t recall what happened long ago;
I know that everyone said to marry.
Whatever my elders tell me to do
whatever is heaven’s will…” She lowered
her eyes again. “Before you departed,
when Father Robak spoke his final word,
that stormy night you hastily started
off, I saw how sorry you were to leave;
your eyes were full of tears and those tears fell
deep into my heart. Truly I believe
that you love me; and I sincerely tell
that all those times I prayed for your well-being,
I saw those tears, so large and gleaming.”
“Later, when I had to travel to Vilno
to spend the winter, I longed to return
to this estate and to this room below
the stork’s nest, and our first meeting, so stern.
But when you left, my memory of you
sprouted like a seedling after planting;
throughout the winter a tiny tree grew.
That’s all I knew; these days I spent waiting
to see this room again — it was as though
something whispered that if I would come back,
I would find you. All winter in Vilno,
I pondered the one thing that I lack;
your name was always on my lips those days;
and even during carnival season,
the ladies said that they knew from my gaze
I was in love, and that was the reason
I felt so strange. So if it’s really true,
I guess that I must be in love with you.”
Pleased with this new proof of her affection,
Tadeusz pressed her hand and led her out
of the garden, and in the direction
of the first room where both of them had met.
The Notary was there, taking his time,
waiting on the ladies and his fiancée,
bustling about, as if still in his prime.
He handed signet rings and chains and clay
jars and glass cruets, powders and lotions,
as he looked at his bride triumphantly.
She finished her toilet preparations,
sitting in front of the mirror peacefully,
consulting the graces, while her servants
rushed about, curling her hair with irons,
affixing flowers, placing ornaments.
But while the Notary made his motions,
the kitchen boy was pounding on the window;
a hare was spotted, creeping through the garden,
having rushed from the woods, through the meadow.
It sat on its haunches by an open
furrow, frightened and so vulnerable,
a child could catch it. And now it was possible.
The Sheriff dragged Falcon across the grounds;
the Notary followed behind, his Bobtail
yelping. The Seneschal stood by the fence,
waving his fly swatter, leaning on a rail,
watching the massacre from a distance.
The poor beast froze, as hunters tried to restrain
their hounds, grabbing collars, whistling, shrieking.
The hounds perk up their ears, though they remain
sedate, softly smacking their lips — shaking
impatiently, as they begin to sniff the wind,
looking like two arrows set on one string.
The Seneschal yells; the hare flies behind
the plants, under the fence, wildly darting
through the meadow, chased by the yelping hounds.