At length the doors flew open with loud noise.
The Wojski entered in a cap, with head
Upraised, he nor saluted, nor took place
At table, for the Wojski cometh forth.
In a new semblance; marshal of the court,
He bears a wand in sign of office; with
That wand he points to all a seat, and places
The guests in turn. First, as the highest ruler
Within the district, took the Chamberlain⁠—
Marshal the seat of honour, velvet chair,
With ivory arms! Beside him, on the right,
Sat General Dombrowski, on the left
Were Kniaziewicz, and Pac, and Malachowski;
’Mid them the lady of the Chamberlain.
Then other ladies, officers and lords,
Nobles and country people, men and women,
Alternately, by couples, sit in order,
Where’er the Wojski indicates. The Judge,
Saluting, left the banquet. In the courtyard
He must regale the peasant company.
Behind a table he had gathered them
Two furlongs long; himself sat at one end,
And at the other sat the parish priest.
Thaddeus and Sophia did not sit
At table; busied with the entertaining,
They ate while walking; ’twas an ancient custom,
At the first banquet, that the new possessors
Themselves should serve the people. In the meantime
The guests, while dishes waited in the hall,
On the great centre-piece astonished looked,
Its metal precious as the workmanship.
Tradition says Prince Radziwill the Orphan
Had caused this set in Venice to be made,
And from his own designs to be adorned,
In Polish fashion. Then the centre-piece
Was captured in the Swedish war; it came,
None knew in what way, to a noble house.
To-day, it had been taken from the treasury,
And occupied the middle of the board
With its great circle, as a cart-wheel broad.

The service was o’erlaid, from depth to border,
With froth and sugar snowy-white; it showed
A winter landscape excellently well.
In midst rose black a mighty sweetmeat grove;
Around were houses like to villages,
And nobles’ farmsteads,259 spread with sugar froth
Instead of rime-frost; on the margin stood
Vessels for ornament, small personages,
Fashioned of porcelain, in Polish dresses,
And like to actors on a stage they seemed
Presenting some events; their gesture given
Most artfully, the colours vivid, voice
Alone they wanted, otherwise alive.

“What should these represent?” the guests inquired.
Thereon the Wojski raised his wand on high,
And thus discoursed⁠—meanwhile was wódka given,
Before they ate⁠—“By the permission of
The gracious gentlemen, these personages
That here you countless see, present a history
Of Polish sejmiks, councils, voting, triumphs,
And quarrels. I myself this scene imagined,
And will explain it to you. “Here, to right,
You see a numerous crowd of noblemen
Before the Diet to a banquet asked.
The table waiteth covered; no one seats
The guests; they stand in groups, each group takes counsel.
Look, in the midst of every group there stands
A man, whose opened lips, whose lifted eyes,
Unquiet hands, denote the orator.
Explaining somewhat, with his finger he
Doth emphasise his speaking, with his hand.
He illustrates his meaning. Here are speakers
Who recommend their candidate, with various
Success, as from their brother nobles’ mien
You may perceive. “True, in this second group
The nobles list attentive, this one plants
His hands upon his girdle, lends his ear.
That one his hand holds to his ear, and twirls
In silence his moustache; he probably
Collects the words, and in his memory strings them.
The orator rejoices, for he sees
They are convinced, and stroketh down his pouch.
He has their votes already in his pouch.

“But in the third assembly other things
Are passing. Here the orator must seize
The hearers by their girdles. Look, they wrest
Themselves away, retire their ears. Look how
This hearer swells with rage; he lifts his hands,
Threatens the orator, and stops his mouth,
Hearing, no doubt, the praises of his rival;
This other, stooping like a bull his head,
You’d say to take the speaker on his horns;
Some draw their sabres, some take to their heels.

“One noble silent stands among the groups;
We see he is an independent man.
He hesitates and fears⁠—how shall he vote?
Not knowing, and in conflict with himself,
He asks of fate, he lifts his hand, puts forth
The forefingers, half-shuts his eyes, with nail
Takes aim at nail; this conjuring will confirm
His vote, for if the fingers meet, he gives
A vote affirmative, but if they miss,
He casts a negative. “The left presents
Another scene⁠—a convent dining-hall,
Turned to a hall of meeting of the nobles.
The elders on a bench sit in a row,
The young men stand, and gaze with eagerness
Betwixt the heads towards the centre. Midmost
The Marshal stands; in hand he holds the urn,
He counts the balls, the nobles with their eyes
Devour them, in this instant he has shaken
The last one out; the heralds lift their hands,
Proclaim the elected legislator’s name.

“One nobleman heeds not the general concord.
Look, from the window of the convent kitchen
He thrusts his head; look how his eyes start forth;
How bold he looks, how wide he opes his lips,
As though he would the chamber all devour.
Easy it is to guess this nobleman
Has cried out, “Veto!” Look how, at this sudden
Kindling of quarrel, to the doors the throng
Rush, to the kitchen certainly they go;
They have drawn their sabres, sure a bloody fight
Will now begin. “But in the corridor,
Consider, gentlemen, this ancient priest,
Who wears a cope. This is the prior; he bears
The Host from off the altar; and a boy,
Clad in a surplice, sounds a bell, and craves
Admission; presently the nobles sheathe
Their sabres, cross themselves, and kneel. The priest
Turns to that quarter where the sword yet clashes.
Soon as he comes all peaceful is and still.

“Ah! you, young sirs, cannot remember this,
How ’mid our stormy and free-ruling nobles,
All armed, no need at all was of police;
While faith was flourishing and laws respected,
Then freedom was with order, and abundance
Of glory! But in other lands, I hear,
The government maintaineth soldiery,
Police, gendarmes, and constables; but if
The sword alone can guard the public safety,
That in these lands is Freedom I believe not.”
Just then, upon his snuff-box tapping, spoke
The Chamberlain: “Sir Wojski, please to lay
Aside till later on these histories.
Truly the sejmik is most interesting,
But we are hungry. Order that the dishes
Be brought in.” Thereunto the Wojski, lowering
His wand unto the ground: “Illustrious,
Most Powerful Chamberlain, allow me pray
This favour. I will end at once the last
Scene of these diets. Here is the new Marshal,
Borne by his partisans from the refect’ry.
Look how the brother nobles throw their caps
Aloft, they ope their lips to cry, ‘Long live!’
But there, upon the other side, the noble
Outvoted, lonely, on his moody brow
Has pressed his cap. His wife before the house
Awaits him; she has guessed what late occurred.
Poor woman! in her servant’s arms she faints!
Poor woman! for she thought to have the title,
Illustrious, Most Powerful; but again
For three years she is only a Most Powerful.”

The Wojski ended his description here,
And gave a signal with his wand. And soon
With dishes lackeys entered, two and two;
The soups, the barszcz,260 called royal, and the rosol261
Of ancient Poland, artfully prepared;
Thereto the Wojski had with wondrous secrets
Cast in some small pearls, and a piece of money.
Such rosol purifies the blood, and health
Doth fortify. Then followed other dishes;⁠—
But who shall tell their names? who understand
These, in our times already quite unknown?⁠—
Those fishes, salmon from the Danube, dried,
Venetian and Turkish caviar,
Soles, carp, and mackerel, pike and “noble carp.”
At last a mystery of cookery,
A fish uncut, fried slightly at the head,
And roasted in the centre, at the tail
Some preparation made with sauce. The guests
Nor asked the names of all these dishes, nor
That wondrous secret stayed them; quick they ate
All things with soldiers’ appetite, and filled
Their goblets up with wine of Hungary.

But in the meantime the great service262 changed
Its colour; bare of snow, it now looked green.
For that light sugary froth, now gradually
Warmed by the summer’s heat, had melted, and
The under side discovered, hitherto
Concealed from the eye; and so the landscape
Presented a new season of the year.
It shone with green and many-coloured spring;
There came forth various grains, as on the ways
They grow; the saffron wheat luxuriant,
With golden ears, the rye with silver leaves,
And buckwheat, formed by art, of chocolate,
And pear and apple orchards blossoming.

The guests have scarcely time to enjoy the gifts
Of summer; vainly they entreat the Wojski
But to prolong them, for the service now
Like to the planet, in its destined orbit,
Changes its season; now the painted grains,
Golden, have gathered warmth within the room,
And gradually melt, the grass turns yellow,
The leaves turn red, and fall; thou wouldst have said
An autumn wind was blowing; at the last
Those trees, late well-adorned, appearing stripped
By storm-winds and by hoar frost, naked stand.
They were but twigs of cinnamon, or branches
Of bay twigs, counterfeiting pine-trees, dressed
With needles, that were seeds of carraway.

The guests, while drinking, stript the branches off
The stems and bark, and ate them with their wine.
The Wojski viewed his service all around,
And full of joy triumphant glances turned
Upon the guests. Henry Dombrowski showed
Immense astonishment, and said, “Sir Wojski,
Were those Chinean shadows? has Pineti
Given you his devils to your service?263 are
Such services in general use in Litva?
Do all hold banquets with such ancient customs?
Pray tell me; I have spent my life abroad.”

The Wojski answered, bowing: “No, Illustrious,
Most Powerful General, no godless art
Is this. ’Tis but a memory of those feasts,
Renowned in lordly houses of old times,
When Poland happiness and power enjoyed.
What I have done I gathered from this book.
Thou askest, whether everywhere in Litva
This custom is preserved. Alas! new fashions
Among us even have crept in. Not one
Young lord cries out, he suffers no excess;
So like a Jew he stints his guests in meat,
And drink; will grudge Hungarian wine, and drink
Satanic, falsified, and modern wines
Of Muscovy, Champagne; then in the evening
Loses at cards full gold enough to give
A banquet to a hundred brother nobles.
Why, even⁠—for what is in my heart to-day
I’ll truly speak, let but the Chamberlain
Not take this ill of me⁠—when I drew out
This wondrous service from the treasury,
Why, even the Chamberlain did laugh at me,
And said it was a wearisome machine,
An old-world thing, it seemed a toy for children,
Unsuitable to such illustrious men.
The Judge! the Judge said, it would tire the guests.
And ne’ertheless, from that astonishment
I caused you, gentlemen, I well perceive
That this fine art was worthy to be seen.
I know not if another such occasion
Will come to entertain in Soplicowo
Such dignitaries. I see, General,
You knowledge have of banquets. Pray accept
This book. It will be useful to you when
You give a banquet to a company
Of foreign monarchs, bah! ev’n to Napoleon!
But let me, ere I consecrate this book
To you, relate the chance whereby it fell
Into my hands.” This instant rose a murmur
Outside the door, together many voices
Cried, “Long live Weathercock!” Into the hall
A crowd did press, with Matthew at their head.
The Judge his guest conducted to the board,
And placed him high among the generals,
And said, “Sir Matthew, you are no good neighbour,
You have arrived too late, when dinner is
Nigh over.”⁠—“I am early,” said Dobrzynski.
“I came not here for eating, but because
I had the curiosity to view
Our national army nearer. There is much
To talk of, but ’tis neither here nor there.
The nobles saw and dragged me here by force,
And you have seated me at table. Thanks,
My neighbour.” Having said this, upside down
He turned his plate, as sign he would not eat,
And kept a gloomy silence. “Friend Dobrzynski,”
Said to him General Dombrowski, “you
Are that renowned swordsman of Kosciuszko,
That Matthew called the Rod. I know you from
Your fame. But, prithee, how art thou preserved
So vigorous, so active? what long years
Have passed away. Look, I am growing old,
Look, even Kniaziewicz is somewhat grey,
But thou might’st hold thine own with young men still.
And does thy Rod yet flourish as ere time?
I heard that thou didst discipline the Russians
Not long ago. But where are now thy brothers?
I should exceedingly rejoice to see
Those Penknives, and your Razors, last examples
Of ancient Lithuania.” “General,”
Replied the Judge, “after that victory,
Nearly the whole of the Dobrzynskis took
Refuge within the Duchy, probably
They went into some legion.”⁠—“Ay, indeed,”
Said a young officer of squadron, “I
Have in the second company a whiskered
Scarecrow, Dobrzynski, who doth call himself
The Sprinkler, but the Polish soldiers call him
The Lithuanian Bear. But if the General
Commands it, we will fetch him here.”⁠—“There are,”
Said a lieutenant, “others by their race
Of Litva, one a soldier, called by name
The Razor, and one more who with a trombone
Rides on the flank; and also in a regiment
Of shooters, two Dobrzynskis, grenadiers.”

“But, but⁠—about their chief,” the General
Replied; “I wish to know about this Penknife,
Of which the Wojski told me such great wonders,
As of some giant of the elder time.”
“The Penknife,” said the Wojski, “though he went
Not into exile, yet as fearing inquest,
Concealed himself from search of Muscovites.
The poor man wandered all the winter long
Among the forests, lately he came forth.
He might be useful in these warlike times,
For ’tis a valiant man, ’tis only pity
He’s somewhat pressed by age. But there he is.”
The Wojski pointed in the hall, where stood
Servants and village folk together crowded.
But over all the heads gleamed suddenly
A shining bald pate, like to a full moon.
Three times it issued forth, and three times vanished
Amid the cloud of heads. The Klucznik, passing,
Bowed, till he loosed him from the crush, and said:

“Illustrious, Most Powerful Hetman of
The Crown, or General⁠—the title is
A trifling matter⁠—I Rembajlo am.
I stand at your command with this my Penknife,
That not from workmanship, nor from inscriptions,
Nor from the temper of its blade such glory,
Earned, that even you, Illustrious Powerful Sir,
Knew of it. If it could but speak, maybe
It might say something tending to the praise
Ev’n of this ancient hand it served so long;
Faithful, may Heaven be thanked, to Fatherland,
And to the lords of the Horeszko race,
Whose memory still is famous among men.
Mopanku seldom any district Writer
So deftly trims his pen, as this does heads.
’Twere long to reckon up. And ears and noses
Countless! And on this Penknife is no notch,
And never any murderous deed has stained it.
Once only!-give him, Lord, eternal rest!⁠—
An unarmed man, alas! it once despatched.
But even that, God be my witness, was
Pro bono publico.” “Well, show it here,”
Said General Dombrowski, laughing. “But
It is a handsome Penknife, truly ’tis
A headsman’s sword!” With great astonishment
He looked upon the rapier, and in turn
Showed it to all the other officers.
They proved it all, but scarcely one of them
Could lift this rapier. It is said Dembinski,264
Renowned for strength of arm, might have upraised
This sabre, but he was not there. Of those
Then present, only might Dwernicki, chief
Of squadron, and Rosycki, of platoon
Lieutenant, turn this iron pole around;
And thus the rapier went from hand to hand,
In turn, on proof. But General Kniaziewicz,
The most illustrious in stature, showed
That he was likewise strongest in the arm.
Holding the rapier lightly, as a sabre,
He raised it, and above all heads he made
Its lightnings gleam, remembering all the arts
Of Polish fencing, cross-stroke, mill, and curved
Stroke, stolen cut, and thrusts of contrapunt,
Of tercets, which he likewise understood,
For he was of the School of Cadets. As
He fenced thus, laughing, did Rembajlo kneel,
Embrace him round the knees, and cry with tears,
At every turn the sword made: “Beautiful;
Say, General, wert thou a Confederate?
Most beautiful, most perfectly! That is
Pulawski’s thrust, thus Dzierzanowski stood.
That is the thrust of Sawa!265 who thus formed
Your hand, except Matthias Dobrzynski? But
That, General, is my invention. Heaven
Forbid! I do not praise myself! That stroke
Is only in the zascianek known
Of the Rembajlos, from my name ’tis called
Mopanku’s stroke. Who taught it to you, sir?
That is my own stroke, mine!” He rose, the General
Seizing in his embrace. “Now shall I die
In peace. There’s yet upon the earth a man
Who will my dear child cherish! For indeed
Both day and night I long have sorely grieved,
Lest this my rapier rust when I am dead.
Behold, it shall not rust! My most Illustrious,
Most Powerful General, pardon me, throw off
Those spits, those German swords; to a noble child
’Twere shame to wear those sticks. Take here a sword
That suits a noble! This my Penknife I
Here lay before your feet, the dearest thing
That in the world I own. I never had
A wife, I have no child; it was to me
Both wife and child; it never left my arms.
From morn till twilight have I cherished it;
By night it slept beside me, and when I
Grew old, it on the wall hung o’er my couch,
As o’er a Jew the Lord’s commandments. I
Have thought it should be buried in my grave,
Together with my hand. But I have found An heir.
Thee let it serve.” The General,
Half-laughing, with emotion half o’ercome,
“Comrade,” he said, “if thou dost yield thy wife
And child to me, through thy remaining years
Thou wilt be very lonely, old and widower,
And childless. Tell me, by what gift shall I
Repay thee, and by what thy childless state
And widowhood assuage?”⁠—“Am I Cybulski?”266
The Klucznik said in grief, “who lost his wife,
At cards unto a Muscovite, the tale
The song relates? It is enough for me,
That yet my Penknife shines before the world,
In such a hand. But, General, remember
The sword-belt must be long, extended well,
For it is long, and aye from the left ear
Strike with both edges, so shalt thou cut through
From head to belly.” Then the General
The Penknife took, but since it was so long,
He could not wear it; so the servants laid it
Safe in the baggage wagon. What of it
Became, concerning that were differing tales,
But none for certain knew, nor then, nor after.

Dombrowski said to Matthew, “How now, comrade!
’Twould seem my coming does not much rejoice thee,
Silent and sour! Why does thy heart not leap
To see the eagles, golden, silver, when
The trumpeters Kosciuszko’s réveille
Sound in thine ears? Matthew, I thought thou wert
A bolder fellow! If thou wilt not draw
Thy sabre, and on horseback mount, at least
Thou’lt drink with thy companions merrily
Unto Napoleon’s and to Poland’s health.

“Ha!” Matthew said, “I see what here is doing.
But, sir, two eagles may not nest together.
Lords’ favour, Hetman, rides on piebald horse.267
The Emperor’s a great warrior, much is there
To talk of. I remember the Pulawskis,268
My friends, were used to say about Dumourier,269⁠—
For Poland there must be a Polish hero,
No Frenchman, nor Italian, but a Piast;270
Must be a John, a Joseph, or a Matthew.
E basta! Army! Polish ’tis, they say;
But fusiliers, and sappers, grenadiers,
And cannoniers; we hear more German titles
Than native in this crowd. Who understands this?
And there must also be among you Turks,
And Tartars, or schismatics, with no God
Or faith. Myself I saw it! they assault
The women in the hamlets, rob the passers,
And pillage churches. Moscow. The Emperor goes to Moscow.
A long way, if his Majesty the Emperor
Has made this undertaking without God.
I have heard he is already under curse
Of a bishop. All this is”⁠—here Matthew dipped
Bread in the soup, and eating, ended not
His sentence. Matthew’s sayings did not please
The Chamberlain. The younger folk besides
Began to murmur. Then the Judge broke off
These quarrels, by proclaiming the arrival
Of the third pair betrothed. It was the Regent.
Himself proclaimed himself the Regent, else
None would have known him. Hitherto he had worn
The Polish costume, but now Telimena,
His future wife,271 obliged him by a clause
Of marriage-contract to renounce the kontusz.
And so the Regent willy-nilly dressed
Himself in French costume. Well might be seen
The frac had taken half his soul away.
He stepped as he a stick had swallowed, straight,
Unmoving, like a crane; he dared not look
To right or left; he came with stately mien,
But from his mien one saw he suffered tortures.
He knew not how to bend, or where to place
His hands, who so loved gestures. At his girdle
He would have placed his hands⁠—there was no girdle,
So he but stroked his waist. He saw his error;
And in confusion coloured fiery red,272
And in one pocket of the frac concealed
Both hands. He stepped as though through rods, through whispers
And mockings, shame enduring for the frac,
As for an evil deed. At last he met
The eyes of Matthew, and with fear he trembled.
Matthew till then had been the Regent’s friend;
Now on him such a sharp and savage glance
He turned, that pale the Regent grew, began
To fasten close his buttons, thinking Matthew
Would strip him of the frac by looks alone.
Dobrzynski only twice said loudly, “Fool!”
But such his anger at the Regent’s dress,
That he at once from table rose, without
Leave-taking made his exit, and on horseback
Mounting, returned unto his farmstead home.

But in the meantime did the Regent’s love,
Fair Telimena, all her beauty’s splendours
And of her dress display, from head to foot
All in the newest fashion. What her dress
Or head adornment seemed, ’twere vain to write;
The pen could not exhaust them, only might
The pencil trace those tulles, those blondes, cashmeres,
Those pearls and precious stones, and rosied cheeks,
And lively glances. Instantly the Count
Had recognised her; with astonishment
All pale he rose from table, sought his sword.
“And is it thou?” he cried, “or do mine eyes
Deceive me? Thou, who in my presence claspest
A stranger’s hand? O faithless being! thou
Most changeful soul! Thou dost not hide with shame
Thy face beneath the earth? Thus art thou mindless
Of such late vows? How credulous I was!
Wherefore have I these ribbons worn? But woe
Unto the rival who affronts me thus!
He shall not to the altar pass, except
Upon my corpse.” The guests arose, the Regent
Confounded greatly; to appease the rivals
The Chamberlain makes haste. But Telimena,
Leading the Count aside: “As yet,” she whispered,
“The Regent has not taken me to wife.
If you will hinder it, pray tell me so.
But answer me at once, and in few words,
If you do love me? have you hitherto
Not changed your heart? are you prepared to-day
To marry me? at once? to-day? and if
You will, I’ll leave the Regent.” Said the Count:
“O woman! unto me not understood!
Once in thy sentiments thou wast a poet,
And now to me thou seemest nought but prose.
What are your marriages, if aught but chains,
That only fetter hands, and bind not souls?
Believe me, they are only declarations
Without confession; they are obligations,
Which bind not! Two hearts at the world’s far ends
Burning, converse like stars with trembling beams.
Who knows? maybe for this cause towards the sun
The earth aye presses, and is therefore ever
So dear unto the moon; eternally
They gaze upon each other, and for aye
Haste by the shortest way each other toward,
But never can approach”⁠—“Enough of this,”
She interrupted; “I am not a planet!
For Heaven’s sake enough, Count! I am a woman.
I know the rest already. Cease to talk
To me of things not here nor there. And now,
I warn you, if you whisper but one word
To break my wedding off, as true as God
In heaven is, I with these nails will spring
At you, and”⁠—“I will not,” the Count replied,
“Madam, disturb your happiness.” He turned
Away his eyes all full of scorn and grief,
And as to punish his unfaithful love,
He took the daughter of the Chamberlain
For object of his steadfast fires. The Wojski
Desired to make the angry youths agree
By wise examples; therefore he began
To adduce the wild-boar story in the woods
Of Naliboko, and of Rejtan’s quarrel
With Prince Denassau. But the guests meanwhile
Had left off eating ices, and they went
For coolness from the castle to the court.

There had the peasantry their feast concluded:
Pitchers of mead were circling round; the music
Was tuning now, and calling to the dance.
They sought for Thaddeus, who stood apart,
And whispered something to his future wife:
“Sophia, I must now in a thing of weight
Take counsel with thee; I have asked my uncle,
And he has no objection. Thou dost know,
A large proportion of those villages
I shall possess, according to the law
Revert to thee; these peasants are not mine,
They are thy subjects; I should never dare
Dispose of them without their lady’s will.
But when we have a Fatherland beloved,
Shall villagers enjoy this happy change
By so much only, that it gives to them
Another master? True it is, till now
They have been ruled with kindliness, but after
My death who knows how I shall leave them? I
A soldier am, and we are mortal both.
I am a man, I fear my own caprices.
More safely shall we do, if we renounce
Such rule, and give up the serfs’ destiny
To the protection of the law. Ourselves
Now free, let us the serfs make also free;
Let us bestow on them in heritage
The holding of these lands where they were born,
That by a work of blood they have obtained.
But I must warn thee, that these lands bestowing
Our revenue will lessen, we must live
On moderate fortune. I to frugal life
Am used from childhood; but for thee, Sophia?
Thou art of noble lineage, thou hast spent
Thy childhood in the capital; canst thou
Agree to dwell here in the country, thus
Far from the world, and as a country woman?”

To this Sophia answered modestly:
“I am a woman; counsel unto me
Does not belong, and you will be my husband.
I am too young for counsel. What you do,
To that I shall agree with all my heart.
If, Thaddeus, thou becomest poorer for
Delivering the serfs, thou wilt be all
The dearer to my heart. I little know
About my lineage, and I little care
About it: I remember only this,
That I was a poor orphan, and adopted
By the Soplicas, as a daughter cherished
Within their house, and thence in marriage given.
I do not fear the country; if I once
Lived in a great town, it is long ago,
I have forgotten it;⁠—I always loved
The country, and believe me, that my cocks
And hens amused me more than Petersburg;
And if at times I longed for entertainments,
And company, it was from childishness;
For now I know the city wearies me.
Last winter a short stay in Wilna taught me
That I was born for country life. Amid
Amusements still I longed for Soplicowo.
Nor fear I work, for I am young and strong;
I know how to go round the house, and how
To carry keys, and thou shalt see how I
Will learn housekeeping.” When Sophia had spoken
These last words, came towards her the astonished
And sour Gervasy. “I know all,” he said.
“The Judge has spoken of this liberty.
But yet I do not understand what this
Can have to do with serfs. I fear me lest
’Tis something German. Liberty indeed
Is not a thing for peasants, but for nobles.
’Tis true that we from Adam all descend;
But I have heard that peasants come from Ham,273
The Jews from Japhet, we nobility
From Shem, and thus as elders rule o’er both;
Yet otherwise the parish priest now teaches.
He says that it has been so formerly,
And in the ancient dispensation; but
When Christ our Lord, though He from kings descended,
Was born among the Jews in peasants’ stable,
He levelled all ranks, and made them agree.
And so thus let it be, if it may not
Be otherwise! Above all, as I hear,
My lady, most Illustrious and Powerful,
Sophia, does agree to all. ’Tis hers
To give command, mine to obey. But only
I warn you, let us give not merely empty
And verbal freedom,274 as among the Russians,
When Pan Karp late deceased did free his serfs,
And with a triple tax the Muscovites
Brought them to famine. Therefore I advise
That by an ancient custom we ennoble
The peasants, and proclaim we give to them
Our crest. My lady on some villages
Confer her Half-goat, Pan Soplica share
The Leliwa with others. That once done,
Rembajlo owns the peasant as his equal,
When he beholds him nobleman, Most Powerful,
With coat-of-arms. The Diet will confirm it.

“But let my lady’s husband have no fear
That giving of the lands will make you poor.
Forbid it, heaven! that I should ever see
The hands of daughter of a dignitary
Cumbered with household labours. There are means
To hinder this. I know a treasure-chest
Within the castle, which contains the plate
Of the Horeszkos, likewise signet-rings,
Medals and jewels, and rich plumes and trappings
Of horses, wondrous sabres, treasure of
The Pantler, in the ground preserved from plunder.
Lady Sophia as inheritrix
Possesses it. I watched it in the castle,
As ’twere the apple of my eye I kept it
From Russians, and from you, Soplicas too.
I have a great bag full of mine own ducats
Besides, collected from my salaries,
Also from gifts of lords. I thought whene’er
The castle was restored to us, to use
The money for repairing of the walls:
To-day for the new housekeeping it seems
Useful at last. Then, Pan Soplica, I
Transfer myself to your house, in my lady’s
I’ll live upon the bread of favour, cradling
From the Horeszkos the third generation,
And to the Penknife mould my lady’s child,
If ’tis a son;⁠—but it a son will be;
For wars are coming, and in time of war
Those born are always sons.” Gervasy scarce
These last words spake, when with slow, solemn steps
Approached Protasy. Bowing low, from forth
The bosom of his kontusz he produced
A monstrous panegyric,275 written on
Two folios and a half. It was composed
In rhyme by a young under-officer,
Who in the capital had formerly
Written some famous odes, and then put on
The uniform; but being in the army
Still a belle-lettrist, he made verses still.
The Wozny now had read three hundred through;
Till coming to this place, “O thou whose charms
Wake painful bliss and rapturous alarms,
When on Bellona’s ranks thy countenance
Thou turnest, straight are shivered sword and lance;
Let Hymen vanquish Mars, and haste to tear
From Discord’s front the hissing vipers there”⁠—
Sophia and Thaddeus clapped unceasingly,
As though they praised it, in reality
Not wishing to hear more. Already by
Commandment of the Judge the parish priest
Upon the table mounted, and proclaimed
The will of Thaddeus to the peasantry.

Scarcely the serfs had heard this news, they sprang
To their young lord, fell at their lady’s feet.
“Health to our lord and lady!” they exclaimed,
With tears. “Health to our fellow-citizens,”
Cried Thaddeus; “free and equal! Poles!” “I give
The People’s health!” Dombrowski said. The people
Cried out, “Long live the generals! long live
The army! live the people! all the states!”
With thousand voices rang alternate healths,
Alone deigned Buchman not to share this joy;
He praised the project, but would gladly see it
Quite otherwise, and first appoint a legal
Commission which should⁠— Shortness of the time
Prevented justice doing to Buchman’s counsel;
For in the castle courtyard stood already
Couples for dancing; officers with ladies,
The common soldiers with the peasant women.
“A Polonaise!” all cried out with one voice.
The officers had brought the army music,
But the Judge whispered to the General:
“Give orders, sir, the band shall yet stay back.
This day is the betrothal of my nephew,
And ’tis an ancient custom of our house
To be betrothed and wed to village music.
Look, here the cymbalist, the fiddler stand,
And piper;⁠—honest folks! the fiddler now.
Stands eager, and the piper bows, entreating
With glance of eyes. Should I them send away,
They’d weep, poor fellows. And the people cannot
Spring to another music. Let them now
Begin, and let the people all rejoice,
And later on we’ll hear your chosen band.”
He gave the sign. The fiddler of his coat
Tucked up the sleeves, he tightly grasped the neck,
Upon the fiddle-head he leaned his chin,
And like a horse in full career set off
Upon the fiddle; at this sign the pipers,
Who stood beside, as though they flapped with wings,
With frequent motion of their shoulders blow
Into the bags, and fill their cheeks with breath.
Thou might’st have thought the pair would fly away
Upon the air, like Boreas’ wingèd children.
Cymbals were wanting. Cymbalists were many;
But none dared play while Jankiel was near.
Where Jankiel tarried all the winter through
None knew; now all at once he had appeared
With the chief army staff. All knew that none
Were equal to him on this instrument
In taste and talent. They entreated he
Would play, presented cymbals, but the Jew
Refused, and said his hands were coarsened, he
Was out of practice, dared not, was ashamed
To play before the gentlemen; he bowed,
And went away. When this Sophia saw,
She ran up to him, and in her white hand
The bars wherewith the master sounds the strings
She offered; with the other hand she stroked
The old man’s hoary beard, and curtsying,
“Do, Jankiel,” says she, “if you please, to-day
Is my betrothal, Jankiel, do play;
You have promised oft to play upon my wedding.”

As Jankiel loved Sophia exceedingly,
He nodded with his chin, in sign he did not
Refuse, and so they led him to their midst.
They gave to him a chair, they bring the cymbals,
And place them on his knees. He looks with joy
And pride on them, like veteran called to arms,
Whose grandsons from the wall his heavy sword
Drag down; the old man laughs, although so long
No sword was in his hand, yet has he felt
The hand is yet no stranger to the sword.

Meanwhile two scholars by the cymbals kneel,
Attune the strings once more, and tuning strike.
Jankiel is silent yet, with half-shut eyes,
And still his fingers grasp the unmoving bars.276

He let them go. At first they beat the time
Of a triumphal march; more frequent, then
They smote along the strings like stormy rain.
All marvelled. But this only was as proof;
For soon he broke off, and aloft he raised
Both bars. He played again. The bars vibrate
With such light motion, as a fly’s wing might
Upon the chords, emitting a low hum,
Scarce heard. The master ever looked towards heaven,
Awaiting inspiration. From above
He looked, the instrument with proud glance scanned.
He raised his hands together, dropped, and smote
With those two bars. The hearers marvelled much.

From many strings together burst a sound,
As a whole band of Janissary music
Awoke with bells, with zel,277 and beating drums;
The Polonaise of May the third. The lively
Maidens breathe hard with joy, the lads may scarce
Stay in their places. But the old men’s thoughts
Were with the sound transported to the past,
Into those happy years when deputies
And senators upon the third of May,
In the town-hall did feast the king, made one
Now with the nation, when in dance they sung:
“Long live the King, the Diet live, the Estates, the Nation long!”
The master hurries evermore the time,
Intensifies the tones; but at that instant
Threw in a false chord like a serpent’s hiss,
Or scratch of iron on glass; all horror seized,
And all their joy an evil-boding fear
Confounded, saddened, frightened all the hearers.
They doubted: was the instrument mistuned?
In error the musician? Such a master
Could not mistake. He purposely has stirred
Again that traitorous string, the melody
Is troubled; ever louder, breaketh in
That chord unbridled, all confederate
Against the concord of the other tones.
At last the Klucznik understood the master;
He covered with his face his hands, and cried:
“I know, I know that sound, ’tis Targowica!”
And presently that string ill-boding burst
With hissing. The musician to the treble
Rushes, he breaks the time, confuses it.
He leaves the treble, rushes to the bass;
And evermore and louder still are heard
A thousand uproars; beating of a march,
Of war, assault, and storm; then shots were heard,
The groans of children, and their mothers weeping.
The perfect master so the horrors gave
Of storming, that the village women trembled;
Recalling to themselves, with tears of pain,
The Praga carnage, which they knew from songs
And stories. Glad they were that suddenly
The master thundered loud with all the strings,
And strangled all the voices, as though he
Had beat them to the ground. The hearers scarce
Had time to issue from astonishment;
Again another music; once again
At first a humming light and low, there sigh
Some slender strings, like flies, who strive to loose
Themselves from nets of spiders. But the chords
Increase aye more and more. The scattered tones
Unite, and legions gather of accords;
And now, with sounds accordant, move in time,
The tune creating of that famous song,
Of how the soldier over hills and forests
Goeth, at times well-nigh with hunger dying,
Falling at last before his charger’s feet,
Who with his foot shall dig for him a grave,
The ancient song to Poland’s army dear.278
The soldiers knew it; all the faithful ranks
Gathered around the master, listening.
They to themselves recall that fearful time,
When o’er their country’s grave they sang that song,
And went into the country of the world.279
In thought they track their years of wandering,
O’er lands, o’er seas, through burning sands and frost,
Amid strange peoples, where so oft in camp
This native song rejoiced and heartened them.
Thus thinking, sadly they bowed down their heads.

But soon they raised them. For the master raised
The tones, intensified and changed the time,
Proclaiming somewhat else; he scanned the strings,
He joined his hands, and smote with both the bars.
So artful was the stroke, and of such power,
That the strings sounded forth like brazen trumpets,
And from the trumpets the triumphal march
Rolled toward the sky, “Yet Poland is not dead!
Dombrowski! march to Poland!” and all clapped,
And all in chorus, “March! Dombrowski!” cried.
The master, as though marvelling at his song,
Dropped from his hands the bars, and raised his hands
On high; his cap of fox-skin from his head
Fell on his shoulders, and his reverend beard
Waved, lifted high; upon his cheek there stood
Circles of wondrous red, and in his glance
All full of spirit, shone the glow of youth.
Till when the old man turned his eyes upon
Dombrowski, with his hands he covered them;
Beneath his hands a flood of tears poured forth.
“General!” he cried, “long has our Litva waited
For thee, as we Jews our Messiah await!
Long singers ’mid the people have foretold thee,
And heaven proclaimed thee by a miracle!
Live thou, and fight!⁠—Oh! thou, our”⁠—speaking he
Kept sobbing, for the honest Jew our country
Loved like a Pole. Dombrowski gave his hand
To him, and thanked him. He, his cap removed,
Did kiss the leader’s hand. The Polonaise
Shall now begin. The Chamberlain does rise,
And lightly throwing back his kontusz cuffs,
And twirling his moustache, presents his hand
Unto Sophia, and bowing courteously
Invites her into the first couple. Following
The Chamberlain, there forms a rank in pairs.
The signal given, the dance begins; he leads.

Upon the turf the red boots shine, there gleams
A lustre from the sabre, the rich girdle
Shines brightly; but he slowly steps as though
Unwilling: but from every step, each motion,
The dancer’s thoughts and feelings may be read.
See, now he stands, as he would ask his lady;
He bends towards her, whispers in her ear;
The lady turns her head away, seems bashful,
She listens not; he takes his cap off, bends
Humbly; the lady deigns to cast a glance,
But keeps a silence obstinate; he tracks
Her glances with his eyes, and laughs at length,
Glad of her answer; quicker steps he forth,
Looks down upon his rivals; and his cap,
With heron’s plumes, now on his brow suspends,
Now shakes it o’er his forehead, till he lays it
Upon one side, and twirls round his moustache.
He goes, all envy him, rush on his traces;
He gladly with his lady would escape
Out of the crowd, at times stands in his place,
And courteously he lifts his hand, and that
They would approach him humbly doth entreat.
At times he thinks with skill to turn aside,
Changeth the path, glad to mislead the rest;
But with swift step importunate they follow.
So he grows angry, and his right hand lays
Upon his sword-hilt, while he seems to say,
“I care not for you! to the envious woe!”
He turns, with pride upon his brow, and with
Defiance in his eye, straight through the crowd;
The crowd of dancers dare not him approach,
They yield to him the way, and change their ranks;
Once more pursuing him. And loud applause
Resounds on all sides: “Ah! that is the last,
Maybe! look, look, young people, ’tis perhaps
The last who thus can lead a Polonaise!”
And pairs still followed pairs with noise and joy.
The circle now unwound, now wound again,
Like to a giant snake in thousand folds,
And change the varied, many hues of dresses
Of ladies, lords, and soldiers, like its scales
Gleaming, and gilded by the western sun,
On the dark cushion of the turf. The dance
Is seething, music sounding, healths and plaudits.
Alone the Corporal Dobrzynski Bustard
Hears not the band, nor dances, nor rejoices.
With hands behind his back he standeth, cross
And gloomy, thinking of his former suit
Unto Sophia, how he loved to bring her
Flowers, weave her baskets, capture birds’ nests, carve
Earrings! Ungrateful girl! Although he lavished
So many gifts upon her, though she fled
Before him, though his father did forbid him,
He yet how often on the garden wall
He sat, to gaze while she her garden weeded,
Or gathered cucumbers, or cockerels fed!
Ungrateful girl! He drooped his head at last;
He whistled a mazurka, then he pressed
The hat upon his ears, and to the camp
He went, where stood the watch beside the guns.
There to distract his mind he played at draughts
With soldiers, with the bowl his grief assuaged.
Such, for Sophia, Dobrzynski’s constancy.

Sophia dances joyously, but though
In the first couple, scarcely seen from far.
On the green surface of the courtyard wide,
In dress of green adorned with field-flowers, and
In flowery garland, ’mid the flowers and grasses
She circles round, in flight invisible,
The dance directing as an angel guides
The course of nightly stars. Thou guessest where
She is, for all the eyes are turned towards her,
All arms are stretched forth, towards her all the crowd
Do press. The Chamberlain in vain does strive
To stay beside her; envious men have now
Repulsed him from the first place, and the happy
Dombrowski might not long rejoice himself,
But yield her to another; and a third
Already hastened, and this one repulsed,
At once departed hopeless. Then Sophia,
Already wearied out, met Thaddeus
In turn, and fearful of a further change,
And wishing to remain with him, she ended
The dances, and towards the table went
To fill up goblets for the guests. The sun
Had set already; warm the evening was,
And stilly; heaven’s circle here and there
Was paved with clouds, above of bluish hue,
Rosy towards the west; these clouds forebode
Fine weather, light and shining; there like flock
Of sheep that slumber on the grass, and there
Are lesser clouds like flocks of water-fowl;
And in the west a cloud like veilly curtains,
Transparent, in deep folds; above like pearl,
Upon the borders gilded; in its depths
Of purple hue; yet with the western blaze
It sparkled, and it glowed, till gradually
It grew more yellow, paler, and then grey.
The sun has drooped his head, the cloud removed,
And giving one sigh with the warm air, slept.
But evermore the nobles drink, with healths
Unto Napoleon, to the generals,
To Thaddeus and Sophia, and at last
In turn of all three couples then betrothed,
Of all the guests there present, all invited,
All friends whom living any one recalled,
And those now dead whose memory was holy.

And I myself was there among the guests:280
I drank the wine and mead, and what I saw
And heard there I have written in a book.