Litva! my country, like art thou to health,
For how to prize thee he alone can tell
Who has lost thee. I behold thy beauty now
In full adornment, and I sing of it
Because I long for thee. O holy Virgin!
Thou, who defendest Czenstochowa bright,3
And shinest in the Ostra Gate, who shieldest
The castled town of Nowogrodek with
Its faithful people; as by miracle
Thou didst restore me as a child to health,
When by a weeping mother, I, confided
To thy protection, raised my half-dead eye,
And to the threshold of thy sanctuary
Could go at once on foot to offer thanks
To God for life returned;4 do thou likewise
Restore us thus by miracle unto
The bosom of our Fatherland! Meanwhile
Bear thou my soul, consumed by longing, to
Those wooded hills, unto those meadows green
Broad stretching on the azure Niemen’s shore;
Towards those fields, rich hued with various grain,
Golden with wheat, and silvered with the rye,
Where amber rape, where buckwheat white as snow,
Where with a maiden blush the clover glows,
And all, as with a ribbon girdled by
A green ridge, whereon pear-trees far apart.
Amid such fields, years since, upon the brink
Of running water, on a hill not high,
Among a birchen thicket; framed of wood,
There stood a noble’s mansion, underbuilt
With masonry; the whitened walls gleamed far;
And whiter from the contrast they appeared
Against the dark-green poplar tree that shielded
The house from blasts of autumn. ’Twas not large,
The dwelling-house, but all round neat and clean.
It had a great barn, and three stacks beside
Of garnered corn, that underneath the thatch
Could not be placed. ’Twas seen the region round
Was rich in corn, and from the corn-stooks thick
As stars, appearing all their length and breadth
Upon the clearings: from the many ploughs,
Those dark-green fallows turning up thus soon,
Which to the mansion surely appertained;
’Twas seen that order and abundance reigned
Within this house. The gate half open stood,
Proclaiming unto all who travelled by,
Its hospitality, inviting all.

This very moment, in a two-horse chaise,
A youthful gentleman approached the gate,
And traversing the courtyard came before
The gallery. He lighted from the chaise.
The horses, left there, ’gan to nip the grass
Before the door, at leisure. Empty seemed
The house; the doors were locked and fastened close
With bolts and padlock. But the traveller
Ran not unto the farm to call for servants;
But oped the door, and ran into the house.
He longed to welcome it, since he for long
Had not beheld his home. For in the city
Far off for education he had stayed;
The end long waited for had come at last.
He ran within, and eagerly he gazed,
And tenderly, upon those ancient walls
As old acquaintances. He viewed again
The self-same furniture, same tapestry,
With which he loved to play from swaddling-bands.
But less of size it seemed, less beautiful
Than formerly. And those same portraits hung
Around the walls. There Kosciuszko, clad
In the Cracovian czamara,56 raised
His eyes to heaven, and grasped a two-hand sword;
Such as when, on the altar-steps, he swore
He with this sword would drive the despots three
From Poland, or himself upon it fall.
And further Rejtan7 sat, in Polish dress
Grieving for freedom lost; he grasped a knife,
The blade towards his breast; before him lay
Phaedo and Cato’s life. Jasinski8 there
A beautiful and sadly-looking youth;
Beside him Korsak, his unsevered friend.
They stand on Praga’s ramparts, over piles
Of Muscovites, the foemen cutting down;
But Praga burned already round them.9 Even
The ancient clock with chimes the traveller knew
In wooden case, at the entrance of the alcove.
And with a childish joy he pulled the string
To hear again Dombrowski’s old mazurka.

He ran through all the house, and sought that room,
Where as a child he dwelt, long years ago;
Entered⁠—retired; his wondering glances flew
Around the walls; a woman’s dwelling here!
Whose was it? His old uncle was unmarried.
In Petersburg for years had dwelt his aunt.
’Twas not the housekeeper’s. A piano here:
Upon it books and music: strewn about
Without or heed or care⁠—a sweet disorder.
They were not ancient hands that strewed them so.
A white frock here, late taken from a peg
To indue, unfolded on a chair arm lay.
And in the window pots of perfumed flowers,
Geraniums, asters, wallflowers, violets.
And in one window stood the traveller.
New wonder! on a border once o’ergrown
With nettles, in the orchard, he beheld
A little garden crossed by garden walks;
All filled with flowers, with English grass and mint;
A wooden paling, with initials wreathed,
Gleamed with a hundredfold of ribbons gay.
The beds, ’twas seen, were freshly watered; near
There stood tin vessels full of water. Still
The pretty gardener nowhere might be seen,
Though she had passed but lately. Still the bushes
Were rocking to and fro, as lately stirred,
And near the trees a little foot’s light print
Upon the sand, shoeless and stockingless,
Upon the light dry sand, as white as snow,
An imprint plainly marked, but light; no doubt
Left in swift running by the tiny foot
Of one, who hardly even touched the earth.
Long in the window stood the traveller
Looking and dreaming: drinking in sweet breath
Of flowers, he bent his visage downward to
The violet plants; with curious eyes pursued
The tiny footprints on the path, and there
Once more he fixed them, thought of them and whose
They were;⁠—he had guessed. By chance he raised his eyes,
And on the garden wall, behold there stood
A young girl. Her white garment only hid
Her slender figure o’er the bosom, leaving
Unveiled her shoulders and her swan-like neck.
Such dress a Lithuanian woman wears
In the morning, and in such is never seen
By men. So though she had none there to see,
She laid her hands upon her bosom, thus
A veil supplying to the little frock.
Not loose in curls her locks, but twisted round
In little knots, and hidden from the sight
In white and tiny husks, that wondrously
Adorned the head; for in the sun’s bright rays,
They shone as shines the glory on a saint.
Her face was seen not. Turned unto the plain
She looked for some one, far below. She saw,
And laughed, and clapped her hands; then from the wall
She flew like a white bird, and glided o’er
The garden, over beds and over flowers,
And on a plank against the chamber-wall,
Before the traveller marked it, through the window
She darted, shining, sudden, silent, light,
Like to a moonbeam. Singing, she caught up
The frock, and ran towards the mirror. Then
She first perceived the youth, and from her hands
The garment fell, and pale she grew with fright
And wonder. And the traveller’s countenance
Glowed with a rosy colour, like a cloud
Which meets the morning dawn. The modest youth
Half shut his eyes and screened them. He endeavoured
To speak, entreat her pardon; but he only
Could bow and then retire. The maiden shrieked
Unmeaningly, like children scared in sleep;
The traveller looked alarmed, but she was gone.
He left the room confused, and felt his heart
Loud-beating; and himself he scarcely knew
If this fantastic meeting should amuse,
Or shame him, or rejoice him. But meanwhile
It ’scaped not heed upon the farm, that now
Some new guest to the gallery had driven.
The horses to their stable had been led,
And fed with plenty, as there was abundance
In this well-ordered house of hay and fodder;
For never would the Judge10 by following
New fashions, send the horses of his guests
Unto the Jews who kept the inn. The servants
Had come not forth to welcome, but think not
That in the Judge’s house was careless service;
The servants wait till the Pan Wojski11 come,
Who ordered supper now behind the house.
The master’s place he holds, and in his absence
Himself receives and welcometh all guests,
A distant kinsman being, and household friend.
On seeing a guest, he hastened to the farm,
Unseen, because he would not come to meet him
In cloth undress; so quickly as he might
He put his Sunday dress on; ready since
The morning, for he from the morning knew
He should with many guests sit down to supper.

The Wojski recognised the traveller
Far off, outspread his arms, and with a cry
Embraced and kissed him. Then began that rapid
Confused discourse, wherein we strive to enclose
The events of many years in few short words
And precious, in the course of stories, questions,
Of exclamations, sighs, and fresh salutings.
When the Pan Wojski had inquired enough,
Enough had learned, he at the end of all
The annals of this very day relates.

“ ’Tis well, my Thaddeus,”⁠—for such the name,
Kosciuszko’s name, by which the youth was called
As sign that in the war-time12 he was born⁠—
“ ’Tis well, my Thaddeus, thou cam’st home to-day,
While we have so many fair young ladies here.
Thine uncle thinks to make a wedding for thee;
There is good choice at hand; much company
Is gathered here some days since for the judgment
Of frontier, to conclude that quarrel with
The Count. The Count himself comes here to-morrow;
The Chamberlain13 already is arrived,
With wife and daughters. With their guns the youths
Have sought the forest; but the old men and
The women watch the reapers, near the forest,
And there await the coming of the youths.
We’ll go there, if thou wilt, and shortly we
Shall meet thine uncle and the Chamberlain,
His family,14 and all the honoured ladies.”

The Wojski went with Thaddeus by the wood,
And still they could not talk out all their fill.
The sun had reached the last degrees of heaven;
Less strong his blaze, yet broader than at noon,
All redly shining, like the hearty face
Of a husbandman, whose labour in the field
Is done, when he returneth home for rest.
The radiant round already sank upon
The summits of the pine-trees, and already
The misty twilight filled their crowns and boughs;
And bound in one the forest all, commingling.
Black grew the thicket like a mighty building,
The sun above like red fire on the roof.
Then in the depth he fell, between the trunks
Still gleaming like a candle through the crannies
Of shutters, and extinguished was. Forthwith
The sickles clashing in the corn, and rakes
Upon the meadow silent were, and stayed.
For so the Judge commands: with day for him
The labourer’s toils were over. The world’s Lord
Doth know the length of time for man to work;
And when the sun, his workman, leaves the sky,
Time ’tis earth’s labourer too should leave the field.
Thus used the Judge to say; the Judge’s will
Was sacred to the honest overseer.
For ev’n the wagons, wherein they but now
Began to lade the rye, half full set off
Towards the barn; the oxen did rejoice
To feel such light and unaccustomed load.

Now from the wood came all the company,
Joyful but yet in order. First the children
Came with their tutor; next the Judge, with him
The lady of the Chamberlain; beside
The Chamberlain with all his family.
The girls went close behind the elder women,
The youths beside the maidens, but these went
Before the young men by some half-a-step.
Thus decency commands. None held discourse
Of precedence, none ranked the men and women,
But each kept order due despite himself;
For in his house the Judge old customs kept,
And never suffered any lack respect
For age, for office, birth, or intellect.
’Tis by such order, said he, houses flourish,
And nations; by its fall they come to ruin.
The household and the servants thus were used
To order, and the guest but lately come,
Kinsman or stranger, all who visited
The Judge, received those customs, whereof all
Around was redolent. Short welcoming
The Judge had for his nephew, gave to him
With dignity his hand to kiss, and health
Wished unto him, with kiss upon his brow;
But though he spoke but little with him then,
From that respect he owed his guests, the tears
That with his garment’s15 hem he quickly dried,
Showed well how he loved Master Thaddeus.

And in the master’s traces everything
From forest and from pasture, mead and grove,
Forthwith returned. A bleating flock of sheep,
Here in the lane together hustling, raised
A cloud of dust. And further onward strode
A herd of Tyrol calves, with brazen bells;
There neighing horses from the new-mown mead
Flew; all together ran unto the well,
Whose wooden arm did forthwith creak, and pour
A stream of water in a wooden trough.

The Judge, though tired, though with company,
Missed not a farmer’s weighty duties. He
Himself betook him to the well. For best
At eventide the master may review
The state of his live stock; nor left he e’er
This overlooking to his servants; well
The Judge knew “master’s eye makes fat the horse.”16

The Wojski, with Protasius the Wozny,17
Await with lights within the hall; they stand
Conversing, and somewhat at variance.
For while as yet the Wojski stayed away,
The Wozny secretly had given orders
To bring the supper-tables from the house,
And swiftly as might be to set them up
In midmost of an ancient castle hall,
The ruins might be seen beyond the forest.
But why these changes? the Pan Wojski frowned,
And asked the Judge’s pardon; much the Judge
Did marvel; but ’twas so; the hour was late,
And change were difficult; he would entreat
The pardon of his guests, and lead them to
The desert place. The Wozny on the road
Unfolded to the Judge the cause which led him
To misconstrue his will. Within the house
There was no room which could a space supply
For guests so many or so honourable.
The castle had a great hall, yet preserved;
The roof was whole; one wall indeed had fallen.
The windows had no panes; but this in summer
Was of no moment; and the cellars’ nearness
Was for the servants a convenience great.
While saying this he winked unto the Judge,
And by his mien disclosed his mind concealed
Yet weightier causes. Some two thousand paces
A castle stood beyond the house. It was
A stately structure, by its mass imposing:
In former times it was the heritage
Of the Horeszkos’ ancient race. Deceased
Its last possessor in intestine wars,
The estates, by sequestration half destroyed,
By the trustees’ neglect, and law-decrees,
In part had fallen unto distant kinsmen
By spindle side, the rest to creditors
Had been divided. None would take the castle;
’Twere hard to spare the cost of maintenance
In noble state. But yet these old walls pleased
The youthful Count, a neighbour near, who when
He passed from tutelage, and late was come
From travel, said they were of Gothic structure;
Although the Judge made sure from documents
The architect a master was from Wilna,
And not a Goth at all. It was enough
The Count desired the Castle; and the Judge
Did suddenly conceive the same desire;
None knew the reason. So began a suit
Before the local, then the central court,
Then in the Senate, local court again,
And governor’s tribunal. And at last,
After great cost and many ukases,
This action to the local courts returned.

Well had the Wozny said that in this hall,
The guests invited, and a court of law
Alike might find a place. The hall was great,
Like a refectory; its arch swelled high,
Raised upon pillars; paved the floor with stone.
The walls were unadorned, but smooth and clear.
The horns of roes and stags were ranged around,
With legends, showing where these spoils were ta’en;
Each with its proper name stood there inscribed,
And on the arched roof gleamed Horeszko’s crest,
Polkozic.18 All the guests in order came,19
And in a circle stood. The Chamberlain
At table took the highest seat; this place
Was his by right of dignity and years.
In going there he to the ladies bowed,
The old men, and the youths. Beside him stood
A begging friar, beside the friar the Judge.
The Bernardine in Latin spoke short grace;
Then brandy to the men was given; all
Forthwith were seated, and in silence ate
The Litvin cholodziec20 with appetite.

Though young, by right of guest Thaddeus sat
Beside his uncle, and among the ladies.
Between him and his uncle there remained
An empty place, that seemed to wait its guest.
The uncle glanced at it, and at the door,
As sure of some one’s coming and desirous;
And Thaddeus followed too his uncle’s glance.
Strange thing: the places round were seats of maidens,
All highly born, and each one young and fair,
But Thaddeus gazed on that where none appeared.
This place a riddle was; young men love riddles.
Absent in thought, to the Podkomorzanka,21
His lovely neighbour, scarce few words he said;
Nor changed her plates, nor filled her glass with wine,
Nor e’er with courteous speeches entertained
The ladies, whereby they might recognise
His city breeding. But this empty place
Alone had power to charm him; not now void:
He had filled it with his thoughts; around this place
A thousand guesses ran, as after rain
Frogs on a lonely meadow; ’mid them queens
One solitary figure, as in sunshine
The lily of the lake her white brow lifts
Above the waters. Now the third course came.
And now the Chamberlain a drop of wine
Outpouring into Mistress Rosa’s glass,
And pushing to his younger daughter’s hand
A plate of cucumbers, thus said, “ ’Tis I
Myself must serve you, daughters mine, although
I am but old and clumsy.” Hearing this,
Some youths from table sprang, and served the ladies.
The Judge a side glance cast at Thaddeus,
And setting right the cuffs of his kontusz,
Poured out the wine of Hungary, and said,
“To-day, by our new custom, we send out
Our youth to study in the capital;
Not grudging they should have more lore from books
Than had their elders, but I see each day
How much from this young men are suffering,
For lack of schools to teach our youth to live
With men, and in the world. In former times
Young nobles went unto the courts of lords.
Myself a Wojewode’s22 courtier was ten years,
The father of our gracious Chamberlain.”
This saying, he pressed his friend upon the knee.
“His counsels formed me for the public service,
His favour left me not till made a man.
In my house ever be his memory dear,
Each day I pray the Lord God for his soul.
If in his court so much I did not profit
As others, worthier of the Wojewode’s grace,
Who after reached the country’s highest places,
At least I reaped this profit; in my house
None can reproach me, that I ever fail
In honour or in courtesy to any;
And this I boldly say, that courtesy
Is not an easy, nor a little thing.
Not easy, for ’tis not comprised in this,
To deftly lift a leg, or to salute
No matter whom with smiles. Such modish court’sy
Seems merchant-like to me, but not Old Polish,
Nor noble. Courtesy belongs to all,
But unto each another sort. For not
Devoid of courtesy is children’s love,
Nor for his wife attentions of a husband,
Nor of a master for his servants; still
There is in each a certain difference;
And long a man must study not to err,
And give to each the honour that is due.
Our elders learned it from discourse of lords,
The living history of the country, and
’Mid noblemen the annals of the district.
Thereby a nobleman might show his brother
All knew him well, and did not lightly prize him;
So nobles held their manners under guard.
Ask not a man to-day, Who is he? Who
Has been his father? With whom has he lived?
What are his deeds? Each enters where he will,
So he is not a governmental spy,
And not in poverty. As once Vespasian
Sniffed not at money, and would not inquire
Whence came it, from what hands, and from what country,
So men ask not a man’s race, or his customs.
Enough he seems important, and they view
The stamp upon him; so they prize their friends,
As Jews do money.” Saying this, the Judge
Looked round in order on his guests, for though
He ever spake with fluency and judgment,
He knew young folks impatient now-a-days,
And that long speeches, though most eloquent,
Do weary them. But all in silence heard.
The Judge seemed with the Chamberlain to take
Counsel by glance of eye; the Chamberlain
Would not by praising interrupt, though oft
Assenting by a nod. The Judge was silent;
His friend still gave assent by beckoning.
The Judge filled up his goblet and his own,
And then continued: “Courtesy is not
A little thing; for when a man has learned
To estimate as is becoming birth,
Age, virtues, customs in all others, he
Perceiveth then his own weight; as on scales
If we would know our own, we first must lay
Some other weight upon the opposing scale.
But, gentlemen, now of your special heed
The courtesy is worthy, which young men
Do to the fair sex owe, especially
When houses’ greatness, fortune’s bounties more
Light up the charms and virtues nature gave.
Hence is the way to love, and marriage thence,
Magnificent allier of houses. Thus
Our elders thought, and therefore”⁠—Here the Judge
With sudden turn of head to Thaddeus signed,
Threw a severe glance at him; as a sign
That he had reached the moral of his speech.

The Chamberlain his golden snuff-box tapped,
And said, “Good Judge, at one time ’twas far worse.
I do not know if we are changed by fashion,
We elder men, or if young men are better,
But now I see far less degeneracy.
I recollect the time, alas! when to
Our Fatherland French manners entered first.
When petty, foreign gentlemen, on sudden,
From stranger lands invaded us in hordes,
Worse than the Nogaj Tartars,23 persecuting
God in their country, their forefathers’ faith,
Their customs, laws, and even their ancient dress.
’Twas pitiful to see these dried-up youngsters,
Talking through noses, oft without their noses,
In brochures learnèd, and in the gazettes;
Proclaiming new beliefs, toilettes, and laws,
This rabble had great power upon men’s minds.
For when the Lord God lets chastisement loose
O’er nations, he bereaves them first of sense.24
And so the wisest dared not beard the fops;
And all the nation feared them like the plague,
Feeling disease’s germ within ev’n then.
They cried against the fashionable fops,
But took their pattern by them; changed their faith,
Their speech, their laws, their dress; it was indeed
A masquerade, a carnival of license,
For which a great fast followed⁠—slavery.

“I recollect, although but then a child,
When to my father’s house in Oszmiana,
In a French chariot the Podczaszyc25 came,
The first in Litva who wore French costume,
And all pursued him as small birds a kite.26
The houses envied were, before whose threshold
The two-horse chaise in which he rode stood still,
Which in the French tongue they called cariole.
Instead of lackeys sat two dogs behind,
And on the box a great and ugly German,27
Thin as a plank, with long lean legs like hop-poles,
In stockings clad, and slippers silver-clasped,
And wig with queue tied up into a bag.
Seeing this equipage, the old men snorted
With laughter, and the peasants signed the cross,
And said that there was riding o’er the world
A Venice devil in a German car.
What the Podczaszyc was ’twere long to tell;
Enough to us he seemed an ape or parrot,
In a great peruke, that he loved to liken,
He to the golden fleece⁠—we to the plica.28
If any one then felt our Polish dress
Was handsomer than aping foreign modes,
He dared not say so, lest the young men should
Cry out against it that it hindered culture,
It kept back progress, ’twas a treacherous thing;
Such was the power of that time’s prejudice.29

“Said the Podczaszyc that to reformate us,
He’d civilize and constitutionise us.30
He announced to us some Frenchmen eloquent
Had a discovery made, that men are equal;
Though in the law divine this long was writ,
And every priest from pulpit said the same.
Old was that knowledge; its fulfilment now
Concerned us; but at that time reigned such blindness,
That none believed the world’s most ancient things,
Unless they read them in a French gazette.
Despite equality, he took the title
Of Marquis; it is known that titles come
From Paris, and at that time there the title
Of Marquis was in fashion. So at last,
Soon as the fashion changed, this Marquis took
Title of Democrat; at length with change
Of fashion, when Napoleon reigned, the Democrat
Arrived from Paris as a Baron. Had he
Lived longer, with some other alteration,
He had rebaptized himself a Democrat.
For Paris glories in repeated change
Of fashion, and in what the French invent
The Pole delights. “Praise be to God that now
If our young men beyond the frontier pass,
’Tis not to seek for dress, or legislation
In shops of booksellers, or eloquence
To learn in Paris cafés. For Napoleon,
A prudent man and prompt, allows no time
To study fashions, or to chatter. Now
The sword resounds, and in us old men swell
Our hearts that once again the world is loud
With glory of the Poles. Now is there glory;
There will be therefore a Republic: since
From laurels ever blossoms Freedom’s tree.
Only ’tis sad, so many years drag on
For us, in idleness, and they still far!
So long to wait; even news so seldom comes.
Father Robak”31⁠—in a lower tone he spoke
Unto the Bernardine⁠—“I heard that you
Have news from that side Niemen; and perhaps
Your reverence knows something of our army?”
“No, nothing,” careless seeming answer made
The Bernardine; “I like not politics.
If I at times from Warsaw have a letter,
It is of things that but concern our Order,
Our Bernardine affairs, and wherefore talk
Of these at supper; all are laymen here,
Whom such affairs in no wise can concern.”

This saying, he looked askance where ’mid the feasters,
There sat one Russian guest, a Captain Rykow,
An ancient soldier, in the village near
He had been quartered. Him through courtesy
The Judge had asked to supper. Rykow ate
With appetite, scarce mingling in discourse;
But when they spoke of Warsaw, he rejoined,
Raising his head: “Fie! fie! Sir Chamberlain!
You are ever anxious about Bonaparte,
Always on Warsaw! what! your Fatherland!
I am no spy, yet understand I Polish.
Country! I feel all that! I understand it!
You are Poles, a Russian I; but now we fight not.
There’s now an armistice: we eat and drink
Together. Often on our outer posts
We chat with Frenchmen; and we drink our wódka32
Together⁠—now hurrah! and cannons sound!
A Russian proverb says: ‘With whom I fight,
I love him.’⁠—‘Love your wife like to your soul,
And beat her like your szuba.’33 I say we
Shall have a war. For Major Plut’s arrived;
The adjutant of staff came yesterday,
With orders to prepare to march. We march;
’Tis either on the Turks, or on the French.
That Bonaparte! perhaps he may out-trump us;
Without Suwarow. In our regiment they
Tell how as we were marching on the trench,
That Bonaparte used sorceries:34 well then,
Suwarow, too, used magic; so it was
A sorcery pitted against sorcery.
One day in fight⁠—wherever was he gone?
They sought for Bonaparte; he had changed himself
Into a fox, and so Suwarow turned
Himself into a greyhound; Bonaparte
Again did change himself into a cat.
So on to tear each other with their claws!
Suwarow changed into an ass. Now you
Shall see what later came to Bonaparte.”
Rykow broke off, and ate: then came a servant
In with the fourth course, and the side doors oped,
And a new person entered, young and fair.
Her sudden coming, stature, and her beauty
And dress turned every eye: all welcomed her;
It seemed, excepting Thaddeus, all knew her.
A slender shape was hers, and beautiful;
And gown of a rich stuff, a rosy silk,
The neck cut low, lace collar, and short sleeves.
She twirled within her hand a fan⁠—for pastime,
Since ’twas not hot⁠—she waved the gilded fan,
And scattered round a plenteous rain of sparks.
Her locks were wreathed in twisted braids and curls,
With rosy ribbons intertwined; among them
A brilliant, nearly hidden from the eye,
Shone like a star among a comet’s tresses.
It was a gala dress, and not a few
Whispered it was too fine for country life,
And for a working day. The eye perceived not
Her little feet, although the robe was short
For very fast she ran, or rather glided,
Like those small figures, which upon the feast
Of the Three Kings boys push along on skates.
She ran, and with light court’sy welcomed each,
Endeavouring to reach her destined place.
’Twas hard, for chairs were placed not for the guests;
Upon four benches in four rows they sat.
The row must either move, or bench be crossed.
She glided cleverly between two benches,
And then between those sitting and the table
She spun around most like a billiard-ball.
In running past, she touched our young man close,
Her flounce entangling over some one’s knee.
She slipped a little, and in this divergence
She leaned upon the arm of Thaddeus.
She courteously asked pardon, and sat down
Between him and his uncle, but ate nought.
She only fanned herself, and twirled the fan;
Now set to rights her Flanders lace, and now
With the light touching of her hand caressed
Her curls of hair, and knots of ribbons bright.

’Twas just four minutes this distraction reigned,
And meanwhile at the table’s further end,
First stilly murmurs were; at length began
A half-aloud discourse; the men related
To-day’s chase. The Assessor with the Regent35
Contested obstinately, ever louder,
The quarrel of a certain crop-tailed greyhound,
In whose possession the Pan Regent gloried,
And held that he to-day had seized the hare.
But the Assessor proved in his despite
This glory ’longed unto his greyhound Sokol.36
They asked of others sentence; so all round
Took either Kusy’s37 part, or that of Sokol,
As connoisseurs, or else as witnesses.
At the other end the Judge to his new neighbour
Said in a whisper: “I am very sorry;
We had to sit down, ’twas impossible
To put the supper off to any later.
The guests were hungry; they’ve been far afield.”
This said, he with the Chamberlain discoursed
Of politics, in low tones, o’er the goblet.

While thus both table-sides were occupied,
Thaddeus gazed long upon the fair unknown.
He recollected now at the first glance
Upon the place he from the first had guessed
Whose seat it was to be; he blushed, and now
His heart with unaccustomed violence beat.
So all his secret riddles thus were solved!
So thus it was appointed, at his side
Should sit that loveliness in twilight seen!
’Twas true she now appeared of larger growth⁠—
In full dress, dress both magnifies and lessens.
But why had one short locks and golden bright,
The other wreaths of long and raven braids?
That bright hue from the sunbeams was derived;
The sunset renders all things crimson bright.
He had not see her face, she fled too soon;
But thought evolves by guessing a fair face.
He thought she surely must have had black eyes,
A pale face, lips as red as cherries twin,
Since here he saw such eyes, and lips and cheeks.
In age perhaps was greatest difference;
The gardening nymph had seemed a little maid;
This lady was a woman grown in years.
But youth for beauty’s birth certificate
Doth never ask; all women to young men
Seem young, to boys each beauty doth appear
Of their own age, and to the innocent
Will every one beloved appear a maid.
Though Thaddeus numbered well-nigh twenty years,
And had from childhood dwelt in Wilna’s town,
He had a priest as tutor, who restrained him,
In strictest bonds of ancient discipline.
But Thaddeus from his parents had derived
A pure heart, lively spirit, innocent soul;
But yet of wilfulness had not a little.
He made a plan, at last he would enjoy
His long forbidden freedom, in the country.
He knew himself right handsome, strong and young;
Vigour and health he owned as heritage
His name Soplica;3839 the Soplicas all
As well is known are valiant, stout and strong;
First-rate as soldiers, but less skilled in learning.

Nor from his fathers Thaddeus was degenerate;
He rode on horse right well, walked far on foot.
Although not dull, in study little versed,
Though spared his uncle for his training nought.
For he preferred to shoot, or wield the sabre.
He knew they meant to fit him for the wars;
That so his father’s testament ordained.
He longed unceasing for the drum while yet
In school. But all at once his uncle changed
Those first intentions, ordered him to come
Homeward, and marry and to take up farming.
He promised he would give him to begin
A little village,40 later all his lands.

And all these virtues, all these qualities
In Thaddeus drew that heedful woman’s eye,
His neighbour. Closely did she scan his tall
And shapely form, strong arms, broad chest, and looked
Upon his visage, which a blush suffused,
Oft as the young man met her eyes; for now
From his first shyness he was quite restored;
And gazed with bolder glance, wherein burned fire.
And likewise she gazed, so the four eyes burned
Towards each other, bright as Advent candles.

She first began discourse with him in French:
He came from town, from school, so of new books,
Of authors, his opinion she inquired,
And from such sentence led new questions on.
But when of painting she began to speak,
Of music, drawing, and of sculpture even,
She seemed alike acquainted with the pencil,
With music and with books, till Thaddeus
At so much learning felt quite mystified,
And stammered like a boy before his master.
But the schoolmaster happily was pretty,
And not severe; his neighbour guessed his trouble,
And so began anew on other things.
Easier and not so learnèd; country life,
Its dullness and vexations; how one must
Divert one self, and how divide the time,
To make life merrier and the country gay.
So Thaddeus answered with more boldness; then
The thing went further, and in half an hour
They grew quite confidential, trifling jests
Began, and little quarrels in the end.
She placed before him three small pills of bread;
Three persons at his choice; he took the first;
At which the daughters of the Chamberlain
Both frowned; his neighbour laughed, but did not say
Who ’twas that lucky pellet signified.
At far end of the board was other talk.
For there, on sudden reinforced, the party
Of Sokol pressed the partisans of Kusy
Without compunction; high the quarrel rose;
They ate not of the latest dishes now;
Both sides disputed, standing up and drinking.
The Regent bristled like an angry woodcock.
Once he began, he pleaded well his cause,
Unbrokenly, and pointed it with gestures,
Expressively. The Pan Regent Bolesta
Was once an advocate, and called the Preacher,
Because he loved such gestures overmuch.
Now by his side his hands lay, and his elbows
Bent backward; underneath his arms his fingers,
And long nails put he forward; by this image
Two greyhound leashes he presented. Thus
His theme he ended: “I and the Assessor,
Each side by side, resembling triggers twain
Stirred by one finger on the self-same gun.
‘Vytcha!’41 they went, and started off the hare
Straight for the plain. The dogs here”⁠—Saying this,
He drew his hand along the board, with fingers
He showed a greyhound’s motions wondrously.
—“The dogs here.⁠—From the wood a piece divides them.
Sokol straight forward, fine dog! but too rash,
Got before Kusy, how much? by a finger.
I knew he’d miss! the hare was game enough!
He made straight for the plain⁠—the pack right after.
That hare was game! As soon as he got wind
Of all the greyhound pack, he doubled right;
A caper! After him the stupid dogs
Followed to right, again to right he doubled.
He cut two capers, dogs again to left!
He in the wood; my Kusy’s up with him!”
Thus shouting, bent the Regent o’er the table,
Ran with his fingers to the other side,
And shouted, “Up with him!” near Thaddeus.
And Thaddeus and his fair neighbour, sudden
By such a burst of voice right in the midst
Of their conversing startled, quickly drew
Their heads back from each other, like two treetops,
Together bound, when storm winds break them loose,
And their two hands that near each other lay
Beneath the table, suddenly drew back,
And one blush did their faces twain suffuse.

Not to betray confusion Thaddeus said:
“Most true, Sir Regent, true without a doubt;
Your Kusy is a fine dog by his shape;
And if as good at taking”⁠—“Good!” exclaimed
The Regent; “what! my favourite dog? how should he
Not be a good one?” Thaddeus again
Rejoiced so good a dog had no defect.
Regretted that he saw him but in passing,
Leaving the forest, so he had no time
To observe his good points. At this the Assessor
Trembled, and dropped his goblet, fixed a look
Like basilisk on Thaddeus. Far less loud
He than the Regent was, and far less restless;
More spare of form, in stature smaller; he
Was terrible at ball, redoubt, and sejmik;42
For of him it was said he bore a sting
Within his tongue; his skill was to compose
Such witty jests that one might print them in
The almanac, malicious all and sharp.
A rich man once, his father’s heritage
And brother’s fortune he had wasted all,
To make a figure in the world, and now
Had entered service of the Government,
To be of some importance in the district.
Much loved he hunting, for its joys in part;
Also that sound of horns and sight of toils
Recalled his youthful years when he maintained
A many huntsmen and renownèd dogs.
Of the whole kennel but two greyhounds now
Remained, and yet of that one they denied
The glory! Near he drew, and leisurely
His favourite stroking, answered with a smile,
And ’twas a venomed smile: “A tailless greyhound
Is like a nobleman without an office.
Likewise the tail much helps the dog in running:
You, sir, a crop-tail hold as proof of goodness,
We’ll ask your aunt’s opinion for the rest.
Though Mistress Telimena long has dwelt
Within the city, and not long ago
Came here, she better understands the chase
Than do our sporting youths; with years alone
Arriveth any learning of this sort.”
Thaddeus, on whom this thunderbolt had fallen,
Arose confused, and nothing said awhile;
But looked with rage increasing on his rival.
Just then, most happily, the Chamberlain
Three times did sneeze. “Vivat!” cried all; he bowed
To all, and on his golden snuff-box tapped;
A golden snuff-box, all with diamonds set,
In midst the portrait of King Stanislas;43
The king himself had given it unto
The father of the Chamberlain; the son
After his father held it worthily.
And when he tapped upon it, ’twas a sign
That he craved hearing. All at once were still,
And ventured not to ope their lips. He said:
“Most Powerful Nobles, Brothers, Benefactors,44
The meads and forests are the hunter’s forum,
So in the house I cannot judge such cause;
And till to-morrow I adjourn this court,
And no appeal will I allow to-day.
Wozny, call thou the action for to-morrow
Upon the plain. The Count comes here to-morrow
With all his hunting train, and you will go
With us, my neighbour, Judge, and all the ladies,
And Mistress Telimena. In a word
We’ll make a grand hunt ex officio.
The Wojski too will not his company
Refuse us.” Saying this to the old man
His snuff-box he presented. ’Mid the hunters
The Wojski at the table’s lower end
Was sitting, listening with half-shut eyes;
But not a word he spoke, although the youths
From time to time demanded his opinion,
For none knew hunting better than did he.
He still kept silence, while the pinch of snuff
He weighed between his fingers, meditating
Long, ere at length he tasted of the pinch.
He sneezed till all the room re-echoed loud
And shook his head, and said with bitter smile,
“Oh! how this saddens and amazes me!
An old man! what had said our elder hunters
To see, in such a noble company,
Among so many gentlemen, disputes
To be adjusted, of a greyhound’s tail?
What would old Rejtan say, could he revive?
He would return to Lachowicz and lie
Down in his grave again. What would the Wojewode,
Old Niesiolowski,45 say, who hitherto
Doth own the finest bloodhounds in the world,
And after lordly custom doth maintain
Two hundred huntsmen, and within his castle
Of Woroncza some hundred wagon-loads
Of nets possesses? But these many years
He keepeth like a monk within his home.
None may prevail on him to join the chase.
He would refuse ev’n Bialopiotrowicz.46
Fine glory ’twere for such a lord to ride,
A-hunting after this new present fashion.
In my time, sir, in hunters’ language, boars,
Bears, elks, and wolves were called noble game,
And beasts that had not tusks, or horns, or claws,
Were left for hired servants, or court menials.
No gentleman would take into his hands
A rifle, to disgrace it in such sort,
By pouring small shot in it. True, they did
Keep greyhounds, since in coming from the chase,
It well may happen, from the horses’ hoofs
A wretched hare may start. Then let they loose
The greyhounds on’t for pastime, and the boys
On ponies mounted did pursue the game,
Before their parents’ eyes, who scarcely deigned
To look upon these sports, far less dispute
About them. Therefore let the Illustrious
Most Powerful Chamberlain now condescend
To draw back his commands, and pardon me
That in such hunt I cannot ride; for ne’er
My foot therein shall stir. My name’s Hreczecha,
And since the days of King Lech47 no Hreczecha
Did ever go a-riding after hares.”

The laughter of the young men here did drown
The Wojski’s speech. All now from table rose,
The Chamberlain the first, this precedence
To him belonging from his years and office.
He passed, to ladies, old men, young men bowing.
Behind him went the Friar; the Judge beside.
The Judge upon the threshold gave his hand
To the Podkomorzyna;48 Thaddeus
To Telimena; the Assessor to
Krajczanka;49 and the Regent came behind
Leading Hreczanka,50 daughter of the Wojski.

Towards the barn proceeded Thaddeus
With some among the guests; he felt confused
And ill at ease, unjoyful; he in thought
Discussed that day’s events; the meeting, supper
Beside that lovely neighbour; but the most
Especially that one word “aunt” did buzz
Like to a tiresome fly around his ears.
He longed to ask the Wojski at more length
Concerning Mistress Telimena, but
Could not empannel him. Nor did he see
The Wojski, for at once with supper done,
All of the household went behind the guests,
As fitting is to servants, to assign
Rooms in the house for sleeping. The old men
And ladies slept within the mansion. Thaddeus
Received command to lead the younger men
Towards the barn to rest upon the hay.

In half-an-hour, it was as still throughout
The mansion, as within a convent when
Prayers have been sung; the silence only broken
By the night sentry’s voice. The Judge alone
Closed not his eyes; to-morrow’s expedition
He must ordain, and coming entertainment
Must plan within the house. He gave command
To bailiffs, overseers, to barn keepers,
To writers,51 to the housekeeper and huntsmen,
And stablemen; and all that day’s accounts
He must o’erlook. At last unto the Wozny
He said he would undress. The Wozny then
Unloosed his girdle, ’twas a Slucko belt,52
A massy girdle, gleaming with thick tassels,
Like plumy crests; on one side gold brocade,
With purple flowers, black silk on the reverse
With silver lattice work; a belt like this
May readily be donned on either side;
The golden on a gala-day, the black
For mourning. And the Wozny only knew
How to unloose this belt, or fold it on.
Now busy with this task, he thus did talk:

“How did I ill, that I transferred the tables
To the old castle? none will lose thereby;
And you, sir, may the gainer be. The suit
Concerns this castle; we have gained this day
A right unto the castle, and despite
The eagerness the other party shows,
I now can prove, that we are in possession.
For he, who to a castle guests invites
To supper, proves that he has ownership,
Or does assume it; ev’n the other party
We can as witness summon for ourselves.
Such things I can remember in my time.”

Now slept the Judge. The Wozny silently
Went out into the hall, and sat him down
Beside a candle; from his pocket drew
A little book, which like a breviary
Did ever serve him; never thrown aside
At home or on a journey. It was the
Vocanda of the Tribunals;53 therein
Stood all those actions written, which the Wozny
By his own voice had summoned in the court,
Or those of which he later learned the names.
To eyes unlearnèd the Vocanda seemed
A catalogue of names; but to the Wozny
These sketches were of splendid images.
He read and thought: Oginski versus Wizgird,
Dominicans and Rymsza, Radziwill
And Wereszczaka, Rymsza, Wyzogird,
Giedrojc, and Rdultowski, Obuchowicz,
And the Kahal,54 and Juraha and Piotrowski,
Malewski and Mickiewicz; and at length
The Count against Soplica; and in reading
From all these names he conjured memories
Of those great causes; all the suit’s events,
And parties, court, and witnesses all stood
Before his eyes; he saw himself as in
A white zupan and kontusz of dark blue,
He stood before the court; with one arm laid
Upon his sabre, and the other leaning
Upon the table, having summoned both
The parties, “Silence in the Court!” he cries.
Dreaming and finishing his evening prayers,
Thus Litva’s latest Wozny sank to sleep.

Such were the sports and contests in those years
In a quiet Litvin village, while the rest
Of all the world was drowned in tears and blood;
While he, that Man, the god of war, with cloud
Of regiments circled, armed with thousand guns,
The silver eagles harnessed with the golden
Unto his chariot, flew from Libya’s wastes
To the Alps, sky-touching, thunder after thunder
Still hurling, at the Pyramids, at Tabor,
Marengo, Ulm and Austerlitz. Before him
Ran Victory and Conquest, and behind
The fame of such great deeds, in heroes’ names
Fruitful, that from the Nile with clamour went
Towards the North, and ev’n on Niemen’s shores
Resounded, as from rocks, from Moskpa’s ranks,
That guarded Litva, as with iron walls,
From news, to Russia dreadful as the plague.

Yet news not seldom, like a stone from heaven,
Fell into Litva. Sometimes an old man
Came begging bread, of arm or leg bereft;
Who having charity received, stood still
And heedfully did cast his eyes around.
And when he saw no Russian soldiers there,
Nor a jarmulka,55 nor a collar red,
He then told who he was; a legionist
His old bones bringing to that Fatherland,
That he no longer could defend. How then
The noble family around him pressed,
And all the household choking with their tears!
He sat at table and told histories
More wonderful than fable. He would tell
How General Dombrowski strives to march
To Poland from Italian land;56 how he
Gathers his countrymen on Lombard plain.
How Kniaziewicz commands from Capitol,
And victor, threw before the Frenchmen’s eyes
A hundred bloody standards,57 wrest away
From children of the Caesars. And likewise
How Jablonowski passed where pepper grows,
Where sugar melted is, and where the woods
Sweet-smelling flourish in eternal spring;
Our general with the Danube’s legions there
The Negroes threatens,58 for his country sighs.
The old man’s words in secret went around
The village; and some boy, who them had heard,
Was sudden lost from home; in woods and swamps
He lurked in secret; by the Muscovites
Pursued, he sprang to hide him in the Niemen.
And diving under, swam to Warsaw’s Duchy,
Where unto him a friendly voice did cry:
“Welcome unto us, comrade!” But ere parting
He mounted on a stony hill, and said
Across the river to the Muscovites:
“Until we meet again!” Thus stole away
Gorecki, Pac, Obuchowicz, Piotrowski,
And Obolewski, Rozycki, Janowicz,
And Mierzejewski, and Brochocki, and
Bernatowicze, Kupsc, and Gedymin,
With others whom I reckon not; they left
Their parents and their land beloved; and goods
Confiscate to the treasury of the Czar.
Betimes a wandering friar to Litva came
From a strange convent, and when he beheld
And knew the mansion of the village lords,
He showed them the gazette, which he unripped
From out his scapulary; therein stood
The number of the soldiers, and the name
Of every legion’s general, of each man,
News of his victory, or of his death.
Thus after many years a family
Received their first news of a son, his life,
Glory, or death; they put on mourning, yet
They dared not say for whom they mourning wore.
The neighbourhood could only guess, and so
The silent sorrow of their lords, or joy
Did form the sole gazette the peasants knew.

And such a secret emissary friar
No doubt was Robak, for he often held
A conversation with the Judge alone;
And after such discourse was always spread
Some news abroad, throughout the neighbourhood.
The Bernardine did by his action show
He had not always worn the cowl, nor in
The convent walls grown old; he bore a scar
Above the right ear, somewhat o’er the brow,
And on his cheek a trace of lance or ball,
Not recent; sure he never got such wounds
While reading missals. But not only dreadful
Was he by looks and scars, for in his mien
And voice was something soldierlike. At mass,
When from the altar with uplifted hands
He turned towards the people, while he said,
“The Lord be with you!”⁠—even there at times
He turned round nimbly with a single action,
As wheeling round at his commander’s call.
He spoke the words of mass in such a tone
As officers before their squadrons use.
The boys who served him at the mass knew this.
In politics was Robak better versed
Than in the lives of saints; upon his rounds
Going, he tarried in the district town
Full of affairs; he letters oft received
Which never before strangers opened he.
He sent off messengers, but where and why
He said not; often did he creep by night
To lordly mansions, and unceasingly
He whispered with the nobles, and he passed
O’er all the neighbouring hamlets there around,
Discoursing with the peasants not a little,
But always of those things which passed abroad.
And now he comes to wake the Judge, who for
The last hour was asleep; he has surely news.