Book Five  THE QUARREL

Telimena plans her hunting - The little gardener gets ready to enter the world and receives instructions from her guardian - The huntsmen return - Tadeusz's great astonishment - A second meeting at the Temple of Musing; amity is restored due to the intervention of the ants - The hunt matter is canvassed at the table - The (interrupted) tale by the Tribune about Rejtan and Prince Denassow - An arrangement between the parties is also interrupted - The apparition with the key - The quarrel -The Count and Gerwazy hold a council of war

While the Tribune with credit returns from the wood,
Telimena in silent old home's solitude
Is just beginning her hunt. Though seems she at rest,
Sitting motionless, folding her arms on her breast,
Yet her thoughts two beasts follow; she ponders the ways
Whereby both may be trapped and both bagged in the chase:
Both the Count and Tadeusz. The Count a young swell,
Of a great house the sole heir, good-looking as well;
Somewhat in love, already! But-love may miscarry!
Is he really sincere? More... and willing to marry?
To a wife some years older! Without very much?
What's the world to make of it? Would kin approve such?

From her couch Telimena with these thoughts arose
You'd think her grown; on tip-toe she struck a new pose,
Slightly unveiled her bosom, inclined to one side,
And examined herself with a critical eye,
And once more she the mirror's advice would obtain;
Dropped her eyes, then sighed deeply, and sat down again.

The Count, a grandee! Fickle are men of great fashion!
The Count's a blond! Blond men can be lacking in passion!
While Tadeusz? Good-hearted! The simplest of boys!
A child, almost! The first time romancing enjoys!
If well-watched, would not lightly renounce his first vow;
Besides, to Telimena he owes something now.
Young men, although their thoughts may quite frequently stray,
Are more faithful than oldsters, for more steadfast they,
Long the heart of a stripling, pure, virginal, simple,
Stays grateful for first entry to love's mystic temple!
Thus delight it greets gaily and gaily sees end,
Like a modest repast we enjoy with a friend.
But the old sot whose stomach rots through drunkenness
Will loathe the very liquor he gulps to excess.
All of this Telimena consummately knew,
For she had a good mind, and experience had too.

But what will people think?-Well, one need not here stay,
One can move to another place, out of the way,
Or, quit these parts entirely, an answer more fitting:
For instance, a short trip to the capital city?
Show the lad the big world, and thus open his eyes,
Guide his footsteps, assist him, support and advise,
Form his heart, and have in him a comrade, a brother!
And, last, enjoy the world while still fair is the weather!

With these thoughts gaily, boldly, she paced about now,
End to end of the alcove, then lowered her brow.
The Count's future is also worth thinking about-
Deftly net him for Zosia? She is, without doubt,
Not wealthy, but his match in arms progenitorial,
A great dignitary's daughter, of house senatorial,
If this pair she could manage to bring to the altar,
In their house Telimena could find a free shelter,
The Count's matchmaker, Zosia's own family, she
To the young married couple a mother would be.

Her soliloquy over, decisions all made,
She called Zosia who out in the poultry-yard played.

Zosia, dressed for the morning, and with her head bare,
Stood quite still, one hand holding a sieve in the air,
At her feet barnyard poultry; here frowzy old hens
Roll like balls of yarn; crested young cockerels prance
And flaunting casques of coral set high on each head,
Paddling through shrubs and furrows with pinions out-spread,
They broadly stride, extending their sharp rowel-spurred heels;
Behind, the puffed-up turkey importantly wheels,
At the giddiness grumbling of garrulous spouse;
Here and there raft-like, peacocks, their long tails, like bows,
Steer slow over the meadow; here, there, from above
Drops down like a white snowball a silver-plumed dove.
In this larger round area of greensward there mills
A small circle of birdlife, which cackles and shrills,
In a riband-like girdle of white pigeons tied,
With the striped, variegated and mottled inside.
Amber beaks here, there coral crests, rising pell-mell,

Emerge from feathery billows like fish from the swell.
Long necks rise and with motions composed and sedate,
Resembling water-lilies, with grace undulate;
Like stars, a thousand bird eyes towards Zosia blazed.

In the midst, and above all this bird-life, she raised
Her head bright as the birds', and arrayed in white linen,
Round her sprayed, like a fount in a flower-bed spinning,
From the sieve she held, on these heads, beaks and wings fairly,
With a hand itself pearl-like, a hail of pearl barley:
This grain, worthy to grace a lord's table alone,
And for thickening Lithuanian broth specially grown,
In the housekeeper's storeroom is kept; Zosia thence
To the household's loss, steals the rich grain for her hens.

She heard someone call "Zosia!" The voice was her auntie's.
She at once widely scattered the rest of the dainties,
The sieve twirling above her, like on a parade
A dancer with a timbrel, the frolicsome maid
Hopped between, over, peacocks and pigeons and hens:
The noisy whirling birdlife with hubbub ascends.
Zosia, feet hardly touching the surface, almost
Appeared the highest soaring among all this host;
Before her white doves scattered, and fluttered each dove
As if flying before the sweet Goddess of Love.

Zosia through the bay window blew in like the breeze;
With a squeal sat down, breathless, upon auntie's knees.
Telimena, while kissing and stroking her face,
With delight notes the dear child's quick brightness and grace
(For she really cared fondly for her little ward).
And attuning her mien to a more serious chord,
Rose, and pacing the alcove north-south and east-west,
These words, finger on lip, she to Zosia addressed:

"Dearest Zosia, you act as if quite unaware
Of your station and age; yet, it's your fourteenth year
Starts today! So leave turkeys and hens, as you ought to,
Fie! Are such romps befitting a senator's daughter?
And with grimy churl children you have had your fill
Of their cuddles! Child, looking at you makes me ill;
Your complexion is cinders, a gypsy, no less,
Like some rustic you walk and you move, I profess!
From tomorrow I'll counter this dreadful anxiety,
Or today, yes, today bring you into society,
To meet guests, in the salon-of guests a heap came,
Just make sure you don't cause me today any shame."

Zosia jumped from her seat and her hands gaily clapped,
And, about her aunt's bosom both arms having wrapped,
She laughed, cried, both together, from joy manifest:
"Ah, dear Aunt, it's so long since I've seen any guest;
Since with turkeys and hens I've spent all my time here,
A wild pigeon's the only guest that would appear;
And I'm bored not a little here all by myself,
The Judge even says that it is bad for my health."

"The Judge", Aunt interrupted, "has long been a bother,
Wants you brought out, keeps muttering one thing and another
Saying that you're grown-up now, knows not how he drivels,
Old fellow, who no profit gained ever from travels.
I know more about timing a girl's preparation
So once out in the salons she makes a sensation.
A girl, Zosia, who grows up in full public view,
Despite beauty and brains, won't receive the praise due,
When we're used to her presence since she was a child.
But when a full-grown, cultured, young lady's bright smile
With its gleam the world startles, from no one knows where,
Then does everyone, curious, press closer to her,
Her each glance and each movement by all is assessed,
Every word is considered and passed to the rest;
And when to heights of vogue the young person is raised,
All must honour and praise, though she's not to their taste.
You in conduct pass muster, I should think, and hope,
In the capital raised, though here two years we mope,
Yet St. Petersburg's not quite forgotten, I know.
Time for dressing now, Zosia, all's in the bureau.
You will find all you need there to make your toilette.
But do hurry, they're not back from hunting as yet."

She then summoned a chambermaid, serving wench too;
Who water from a jug in a silver dish drew;
Zosia, just like a sparrow in a sand-bank, fluttering,
With the maid's help, her arms, neck, and face washes, spluttering.
Telimena then opened her Petersburg store,
Brings forth bottles of perfume, pomades, and much more,
Sprinkles Zosia all over with exquisite scent
(It filled the room), the hair she with rich pomade blent.
Zosia slips on her stockings, white, made of fine net,
And the slippers from Warsaw of fine satinette;
The maid, meanwhile, had laced up her bodice, and dressed
Her with a smock for cover thrown over her breast;
Then, with care, she removes the warmed curlpapers, weaves
Her curls, too short for plaiting, in two braids, but leaves
The hair smooth on her forehead, and also on temple;
One maid freshly picked cornflowers wove into a simple
Garland, which Telimena's most competent hand
Placed on Zosia's head deftly and artfully pinned
Right to left: the pale tresses the flowery chain
Set off in lovely contrast, as on sheaves of grain!
The maid removes the wrap now the toilette is done;
Zosia over her head drew a little white gown,
A batiste snow-white hankie with one hand twists tight
And appears white all over, as lilies are white.

Final touches now given to hair and to gown,
She is told to parade in the room up and down:
Telimena observing with connoisseur's eyes,
Inspects her niece, grows angry, complains, nearly cries;
Until at Zosia's curtsy she groans in despair.
"Unhappy me! Now, Zosia, how's one to repair
This goose-and-shepherd life-style! Your legs you spread so,
Like a fellow, your eyes to the right and left throw,
A sheer divorcee! Curtsy! Just look, what a colt!"
"Oh Aunt" said Zosia sadly, "how am I at fault,
Auntie kept me locked up; who could ask me to dance?
I from boredom fed poultry, with small children pranced;
But you'll see, Auntie, once I have fun and can move
Among people, you'll see then how I shall improve!"
"Sure", said aunt, "it is better with chickens to scrabble
Then mix here with this common and flea-ridden rabble;
You do well to remember who with us was staying:
Parish priest, muttering prayers, or at checkers playing,
Or, with his pipes, the lawyer! That grand cavalier!
You from such-like would come by much polished veneer!
Now, at long last, it's worthwhile for one to appear,
We now have some quite decent society here.
The young Count, mark this Zosia, is here on vacation,
A milord, and well-mannered, and Voivode's relation,
So, be nice to him, Zosia".

They hear horses neigh, 
The huntsmen's clatter entering the gate: it is they! 
Taking Zosias small hand she ran to the salon. 
The sportsmen did not enter the room; they must don, 
Freshly within their chambers laid out, proper dress, 
(Surcoats are not for ladies). Both young men came first, 
For the Count and Tadeusz had speedily changed. 
Telimena in duties of hostess engaged, 
Greets the guests, shows them seats, and keeps up conversation, 
And presents her young niece in the proper rotation: 
To Tadeusz, the closest in kin, first, and so 
Zosia prettily curtsied, he bowed very low, 
Wished to speak to her, opened his mouth as if to, 
But, into her eyes gazing, he so timid grew, 
That, standing dumb before her, he flushed, and then paled; 
But what his heart had hidden was from himself veiled. 

He felt very unhappy-he knew Zosia, knew 
By her figure, her bright hair, and by her voice too; 
On the fence saw this morning this form and small head, 
This sweet voice for the hunt woke and stirred him from bed. 

But the Tribune him saved from confusion complete:
Seeing that he was pale and unsure on his feet,
Ordered him to repair to his chamber for rest;
But Tadeusz his back to the chimney-breast pressed,
Saying nothing-wide-opened, insane eyes he turned,
Which sometimes on the auntie or on the niece burned.
Telimena observed that the very first glance
At Zosia made Tadeusz go into a trance;
She had not guessed it all, but became rather white,
Receiving guests, but keeping him always in sight.
At last, seizing a moment, towards him she ran:
Was he well? Why so gloomy?-asked once and again,
Drops in mentions of Zosia, and tries a few jests,
Tadeusz stands, quite rigid; on one elbow rests,
Saying nothing he wrinkled his lip and just frowned:
Which Telimena much did amaze and confound.
She immediately changed her expression and tone,
Now rose wrathful and threw words as sharp as a stone,
With a shower of reproaches and blame on her tongue;
Started up then Tadeusz, as if he were stung,
Looked askance, and not saying a word to her, spat,
Kicked his chair away roughly and left the room flat,
Slamming the door behind him. It was for the best
Except for Telimena, 'twas seen by no guest.

Flying out through the gate he towards the field flew.
As a pike, when a fisher's spear pierces it through,
Dives and splashes in hope that it can get away,
But forever the iron and the line with it stay:
So Tadeusz behind him dragged his bag of bile;
Ploughing through every furrow and leaping each stile,
Without aim or direction, by furies pursued,
Wandering finally into the depths of the wood,
And chanced, whether on purpose or due to some madness,
On the hill which was witness to yesterday's gladness,
Where she gave him that love-pledge, it seemed long ago,
Named 'The Temple of Musing', as you all should know.

His eyes casts he about him-and sees-she sits there!
Telimena, sunk deeply in thought, unaware,
Changed in pose and in garment from yesterday's, lone,
Dressed in white, on a stone sits, herself like a stone;
Tadeusz's heart vainly went on the defence:
He felt stirrings of pity, compassion immense,
Long stood silent, well-hidden behind a large oak,
At last sighed, to himself he thus angrily spoke:
"Fool! How is she to blame, when the fault's due to me!"
So his head he withdrew from behind the oak-tree.
All at once, Telimena from her stone seat starts,
To right, to left, gyrating; across the stream darts,
Arms outstretched, deathly pale, her hair loose in the breeze;
She kneels down, jumps, falls over; runs into the trees,
Falls, cannot rise, on greensward she writhes yet again;
One can tell from her movements how dreadful her pain;
She grabs at herself, knees and feet, shoulder and breast;
So Tadeusz sprang fearing she must be obsessed,
Or be terribly ill. But another cause drove
These strange convulsions.

Nearby, within an ash grove 
Stood a very large anthill; the thrifty ants' track 
Threaded over the grasses, quick, busy and black; 
From need, perhaps, or drawn by its loveliness, choosing 
To especially favour the Temple of Musing; 
From its capital hill to the spring's verdant banks 
This busy nation trod out a path for its ranks. 
By ill luck Telimena on this track was sitting; 
The ants, lured by the shimmer of snowy-white stocking, 
Ran up in swarms and started to tickle and sting; 
Telimena was forced to escape, and to fling 
Herself on the turf trying each ant to eject. 

Such a plea for help couldn't Tadeusz reject;
Thus, while brushing her garment, right down to her feet,
His lips chanced Telimena's brow also to meet-
In this pleasant position, though few words were passed
About that morning's quarrels, they seemed friends at last;
And one cannot tell how long this chat would have taken,
Had they by Soplicowo's bell not been awakened.
It's the signal for supper: they should now turn back
And the more so since nearby one heard branches crack.
Were they missed? To return hand-in-hand would not do;
So she tried by the garden to steal out of view,
While, on the left, Tadeusz towards the road hurried,
This withdrawal gave both of them cause to be worried.
It seemed to Telimena, behind a tree trunk,
There had flashed past-the hooded lean face of the monk;
Tadeusz saw distinctly how once and again
To his left, a white phantom flashed, long, lank, quite plain.
What this was, could not tell, but suspected he knew
That it must be the Count in his English surtout.

They supped inside the castle. Protaze, no permission,
Unheedful of the Judge's express prohibition,
Again in master's absence the old castle stormed,
With the plate (as he argued) their seisin affirmed.
The guests entered in order and stood for the grace:
The Chamberlain, as always, the foremost took place,
To him from age and rank does this honour belong.
He entered, bowed to ladies, the old and the young.
The Almsman was not present, his place occupied
By the Chamberlain's wife who sat at his right side.
The Judge, when he the guests in due order had placed,
Blessed the table by saying a short Latin grace;
Then the men were served vodka; their seats all assumed
And Lithuanian cold barszcz in the silence consumed.

After barszcz came crab, chicken, asparagus stalks,
Hand-in-hand with Malaga, red clarets and hocks;
They ate, drank-and kept quiet. There never was known,
(Since the walls of the castle were built stone by stone,
Welcomed hundreds of gentry for banquets or chats,
Heard and echoed such numberless healths and vivats)
Or recalled, such a gloomy and joyless repast;
Only popping of corks, the plates' clatter when passed,
Resounded in the vastness and void of the hall:
You'd say: an evil ghost tied the tongues of them all.
Many causes there were for the silence: the men
Returned from the deep wood quite loquacious, but when
Their excitement had cooled, they perceived that they came
Out of this whole bear business with no special fame:
It just needed one monkish black cowl to appear,
A jack-in-the-box pop up, God best knows from where,
And the shire's best guns show up? Oh shame, oh disgrace!
What at Oszmian and Lida they'll say to our face,
Who for ages for name of best marksmen have fought
And with our shire competed; so all sat in thought.
The Assessor and Notary, besides their distaste
For each other, recalled too their hounds' late disgrace.
In their mind's eye, that rascal, legs stretched out, that wicked
Hare, its scut always mocking from edge of the thicket,
Like a whip now, this scut both their hearts flagellates:
So they sat with their noses sunk into their plates.
The Assessor another had grief to subdue,
Gazing at Telimena and rivals both too.

Telimena sat turned from Tadeusz, nor dared,
Too confused, to cast even a glance, or a word;
She perhaps the Count's humour would somehow improve,
Involve in conversation, to better cheer move,
For the Count strangely sour had returned from his walk,
Or rather, (thought Tadeusz) returned from his stalk.
Listening to Telimena, head haughtily raised,
Brows knitted, and with close to contempt in his gaze;
He placed himself by Zosia, as close as he could,
Filled her glass, most considerate, brought platters of food,
Paid a thousand attentions, bowed, crinkled his eyes,
Sometimes turned his eyes upward and woefully sighed,
One could see though, despite such skilled amorous manner,
That this courtship's aim was but to spite Telimena;
For, by turning his head, as if only by chance,
Telimena felt often his eye's baleful glance.
Telimena the cause of this unexplained change
Could not guess; shrugged her shoulders, thought: he is deranged.
With the Count's fresh flirtation quite well satisfied,
She now turned to the neighbour on her other side.

Tadeusz too was grim-faced, drank nothing, nor ate,
Seemed the talk but to follow, eyes fixed on his plate,
Telimena pours wine, he gets angry, just frowns:
She's too pressing; she asks: are you well?-and he yawns.
Takes it ill (this one night had so worked on his mind),
Telimena to flirting seemed easily inclined;
He is shocked that her gown is so décolleté,
So immodest-and what, when he let his eyes stray!
More shocks! His eye, now keener, examines each grace
And it hardly arrives at her roseate face,
When at once it discovers the secret disgrace!
Good heavens! She's rouged!

Was the rouge second-rate? 
Or did from its foundation somehow separate: 
Here and there it a coarser complexion disclosed. 
Perhaps he, at the Temple of Musing, who knows, 
In too close conversation, had brushed from her skin 
Carmine, lighter than dust on a butterfly's wing. 
Telimena, too rushed when she'd come back from the wood 
Lacked the time damaged make-up again to make good;
Round the eyes, surely, freckles! Indeed, now the eyes
Of Tadeusz were let loose, like two cunning spies,
Such self-betrayals noted, ranged boldly to reach
In turn all other charms to find falsehood in each:
In the mouth two teeth missing; on temples, brow, bide
Wrinkles, and yet more wrinkles beneath her chin hide!

Alas! Tadeusz felt, it's uncalled for, a pity,
A fine thing to too closely observe; how unfitting
So to spy on one's lover, what ignoble role
To change taste and heart, but who his heart can control?
In vain would he with conscience love's lack now replace,
The chilled soul vainly warm with the beams of her gaze:
This gaze, sparkling but cold, like the bright moonlight's dart,
Only skimmed the soul's surface, now chilled to the heart...
Thus reproaching and wishing himself every ill,
He bent into his plate, bit his lips, and sat still.
Meanwhile his evil spirit slips in the temptation
To eavesdrop on the Count's and Zosia's conversation:
The girl, who the Count's manner had found quite beguiling,
At first prettily blushed and her eyes lowered shyly,
Then both joined in gay laughter, proceeded to talk
Of some sudden encounter, of some garden walk,
Of someone's careless treading on burdock and balk.
Tadeusz, his ears stretching as far as he could,
Gulped the bitter words and these inside his soul chewed.
A bad meal he had. As, in the garden, a snake
With its forked tongue from toxic herbs venom will take,
Then roll into a ball, and lie down in the way,
Threatening a heel that thither may carelessly stray:
Thus by jealousy poisoned, Tadeusz at worst
Seemed indifferent, but inside with anger near burst.

In the happiest of gatherings when some feel depressed
Straightaway spreads their glumness across all the rest.
The huntsmen dumb already, the other side too,
By Tadeusz's bile were infected right through.

And the Lord Chamberlain even, unusually soured,
Had no wish for talk, seeing his daughters, well-dowered,
Very comely young ladies, fair, blooming, admired,
And acknowledged the foremost 'parties' in the shire,
Sitting silent, by silent young men quite neglected.
So the affable Judge, too, was by this affected;
And the Tribune, observing how all sat there dumb,
Said this meal had not Polish, but wolfish, become.

Hreczeha had for silence a sensitive ear,
A great babbler himself, loved more chatterers near,
And, not strange! He with gentry had spent his life, eating,
At assemblies, or hunting, or at council meeting;
He was used to hear always some hum in his ear,
Even when he was silent, or in full career
After flies with a fly swat, or musing, eyes closed;
In the day he sought talkers, at night, when he dozed
Wished to hear fairy-stories, or rosaries; and so
Of the pipe habit was an inveterate foe:
A German scheme, so Poles, like them, speechless become.
He said: "Poland turned silent, is Poland struck dumb".
The old man, life spent talking, would rest but in prattle,
Silence woke him. Thus millers, by unceasing rattle
Of their millstone lulled, wake in an instant afresh
When it stops, crying frightened: "the Word became flesh!"

He bowed to the old lord, to him made a slight sign,
Then, hand raised, to the Judge he it lightly inclined,
Asking the floor; the two lords then answered this bow
By bowing in turn, which meant: it is your turn now.
And the Tribune began:

"To the young I appeal 
That they might in the old way enjoy a good meal, 
Not sit dumbly and chew: are we Capuchin fathers? 
Who keeps mum among gentry, such ill-fame he gathers 
As the hunter whose bullet inside his gun stays 
And rusts: so I our fathers' loquacity praise. 
After hunting, to table, and not just for food, 
But to talk to each other as much as they could, 
Of what was in their heads: of faults damned, virtues crowned, 
Of the hunters, the beaters, the shooting, the hound, 
Once engaged in discussion, a hubbub then grew, 
As dear to huntsmen's ears as another battue.
I know well what's your trouble: this cloud black and foul
Of cares surely had risen from Father Worm's cowl!
You're ashamed of your misses! Be not shamed by this,
Greater shots than you I've known, and they, too, could miss.
'Shoot, miss, correct' is huntsmen's quite usual lot,
I myself, though with gun I have tramped since a tot,
Have missed: famous Tuloszczyk himself missed a few,
Was not always successful our late Rejtan, too.
About Rejtan more later. To mention again
The bear breaking the cordon, that both our young men
Let the beast have the better of them in the end,
Though with pike in their hand, this will no one commend,
Nor should censure: to flee, with shot still in the gun
Would once brand you a coward: was simply not done;
Or likewise, to fire blindly (many do the same),
Before the beast comes closer, without taking aim,
Is an act shameful; but who takes adequate sight,
Who allows the beast near him, without taking fright,
If he misses, may draw back without disgrace still;
Or may fight on with javelin, but of his own will,
Not compulsion; the pike's put into hunter's hands
Not for attack, but only for his self-defence.
Thus was it in the old days: so mark what I say,
And do not take to heart your withdrawal today.
Dear Tadeusz, and also your lordship the Count!
When you chance to remember today's hunting jaunt,
When you ruminate over the deeds of this morning,
Recall also old Tribune's invariable warning:
Not to hinder each other should be huntsmen's aim,
And that two should not ever shoot at the one game."

The Tribune had just spoken that little word "game",
When the Assessor, under his breath, whispered "dame";
''Bravo!' cried the youths, rose then some murmurs and laughter,
By turns, Hreczeha's warning was echoed thereafter,
Especially the last word, these kept saying: "game",
And others, laughing loudly, cried: "No, at the dame!"
Whispered Notary: "a skirt"-the Assessor: "a flirt",
His eyes in Telimena, like knives, did insert.

The Tribune had no aim to cause any offence,
Neither noticed some whispered behind their cupped hands;
Glad he put youths and ladies into a good mood;
Then he turned to the huntsmen to see if he could
Also cheer these; and spoke thus, while pouring more wine:

"My eyes vainly endeavour to find our divine,
I would tell him about a most curious affair,
Not unlike what has happened today with the bear.
Said the Warden, he knew but one man who could vie
With our Worm, who from far off could hit a bull's eye;
Well, I once knew another: with one well-aimed ball
Two fine men's lives he saved, and I saw it befall,
When to the Nabolicki woods these worthies came,
Rejtan, deputy, and Prince Denassow. His fame
Was not begrudged the squire by these great lords of wealth,
They were first, at the table, to drink to his health,
Fine gifts him on him they showered, and presents galore,
Bestowed on him the boar's hide. And now of this boar
And that shot I will speak, for I also was there;
And it was to today's quite a similar affair,
And happened to two huntsmen enjoying great fame:
Rejtan, deputy, and Prince Denassow by name."


But the Judge broke in while he a goblet filled up:
"I drink the priest's health, Tribune, in your hands the cup!
If we can't make him richer with generous donation,
At least he'll for the powder have due compensation;
We'll warrant that the bear killed today in the wood
Will the monastery kitchen two years stock in food.
But the hide I will keep, and by force, if must be,
It is mine, or he'll yield it through humility.
I'll buy it, if ten minks I must pay him for it,
And the hide we'll dispose of as we then think fit;
The first laurel and glory must God's servant gain,
The hide, our most honoured, our Lord Chamberlain
Will to him who deserved it give as second prize."

Then the Chamberlain his brow smoothed and narrowed his eyes:
There were mutters 'mongst huntsmen; each one had his tale,
This one wounded the bear while that one found the trail,
That one called the hounds, this one the beast caused to double
Back to the wood. The Notary the Assessor troubled,
The great qualities of his Sanguszko gun praising,
The other, his Sagalas gun's powers amazing.

Said the Chamberlain: "Neighbour, Judge, to me it's plain:
The first prize our Lord's servant must surely obtain;
But not easy to judge, who came after him second,
For all with equal merit performed, as I reckon.
All on par in their skill and adroitness and daring.
Fate today though chose two for the burden of sharing
The worst danger, those nearest the claws of the bear:
Tadeusz and the Count: they the bearskin must share.
Pan Tadeusz will yield (and of this I am most
Certain), since he is younger, and kin of our host;
So these 'spolia optima' accept, my lord Count,
And these spoils on the walls of your trophy room mount,
Let them be a reminder of this today's game,
Symbol of hunting prowess, spur to future fame."

He ceased, well content, thinking the Count he'd pleased too;
Unaware, with what pain he that heart had pierced through.
For the Count when were mentioned those words: "trophy room",
Raised his eyes all unwitting; these eyes, in the gloom
Saw stags' antlers, like forests of laurel, which once
Were by fathers' hands planted for wreaths for the sons,
Saw these pillars by portraits adorned, saw his coat-
Of-arms still on the vault shine: Horeszko Half-Goat;
From all sides these past voices were at him addressed;
He woke from his dreams; saw where he was and whose guest:
He, Horeszkos' heir, guest in his own hall armorial,
Feasting with the Soplicas, his foes immemorial!
And to boot, the ill-will he Tadeusz now bore
Now embittered him 'gainst the Soplicas the more.

With a bitter smile said he: "My house is too small,
For a gift so fine it has no fit place at all;
Best, the bear should wait here, 'mongst these antlers and horns,
Till the Judge to me all, with the castle, returns".
The Chamberlain divining, what face all this bore,
Tapped his gold snuffbox, meaning he asks for the floor.

"You deserve praise, Count, neighbour, that you are so able,
To look after your business, and even at table;
Unlike those rich and modish young men of your age
Who live day-to-day, heedless. I wish, and engage,
To resolve with a compact the current proceeding;
Manor fundum's a problem, I grant you, and needing
A few mutual adjustments, the fundum to trade
For land, as here shall follow...", a scheme now displayed
In good order, as always his wont, of his notion;
He was well under way, when a sudden commotion
At the table's end started. Some gazed in surprise,
Pointing fingers, while others re-focussed their eyes,
Until, like ears of corn, by a changing wind swayed,
Every head in the hall turned the opposite way,
To the corner where hung, with the dead of the past,
The late Pantler's grim visage, Horeszko the last.
Through a little door hidden between pier and pier
A still phantom-like figure, without fuss, appeared:
Gerwazy! Known to all by his height and his face,
By the silvery half-goats on his yellow coat traced.
He stepped straight as a post, dumb, morose, as one dead,
Not removing his cap, nor inclining his head;
In his hand he a key, like a bright poniard carried,
The case opened, and started to turn something buried.

In the hall's furthest corners, against pillars placed,
Stood two musical clocks, each erect in its case;
Two eccentrics, for long now at odds with the sun,
Noon they frequently chanted when midnight had gone;
Gerwazy made no effort the clocks to repair,
Without winding them up, though, would not leave them there,
With this key he tormented the clocks, would not miss
Any night, and just now came the moment for this.
The Chamberlain his legal proposals lined up,
When Gerwazy began the clock's weights to wind up:
The red rusty wheel, gap-toothed, rasped, grated and screeched;
The Chamberlain winced, shuddered, disturbed in his speech.
Said he: "Brother, your urgent task leave for a bit!"
And his project wound up; but the Warden, no whit
Abashed, pulled in despite at the other clock's weight;

And soon the bullfinch, which on the top of it sat,
Its wings flapping, began to churn out the old round.
The bird artfully fashioned, a shame broken down,
It wheezed and squawked and stuttered, the longer, the worse.
The guests roared: and the speaker again stopped mid-course.
"My dear Warden", he shouted, "or my screech-owl, rather,
If you value your beak, that's enough of this bother!"

But Gerwazy showed little concern at the threat,
With dignity his right hand upon the clock set,
And the left on his hip; thus supported twice, spoke:
"My sweet Chamberlain's lordship, a lord's free to joke,
Sparrow's smaller than owl, but when on its nest is
Bolder than any owl in a house that's not his:
A warden is no screech-owl: who in a strange loft
Prowls at night, is the owl, sir, and him I'll warn off".
"Out the door with him!" shouted the Chamberlain.


"Count!" 
Called the Warden, "you see, sir, how they strut and flaunt: 
Does not your lordship's honour sufficiently stink, 
That you sit with Soplicas to guzzle and drink; 
Must I, castle's official, now go beg their pardon, 
I, Gerwazy Rembailo, Horeszkos' old warden, 
In my lords' house insulted? And you, sir, you'll buy it?" 
Then Protazy thrice called out: "Be silent here! Quiet! 
I, Protazy Baltazar Brzechalski, erstwhile 
Of two offices, provost of court once, and styled 
Vulgo, Usher, here order an investigation 
And a formal inquiry with participation 
As the witnesses, those here, if gentlemen born, 
And require the Assessor give evidence sworn, 
At his Honour Soplica's suit, plea and demand: 
Re the current incursion, or, trespass on land, 
The forced entry to castle the Judge rules by right, 
Of which evident proof is-he dines here tonight." 
"Croaker!" screamed out the Warden, "I'll teach you to preach!" 
To his belt for his ring of big iron keys reached 
Whirled around his head once, with an almighty fling, 
And the iron bunch flew off like a stone from a sling. 
Protazy's head would surely have squashed like a fly; 
By good luck ducked the Usher, and Death passed him by. 

All jumped up from their benches, in shocked silence stood,
The Judge cried: "To the stocks with that firebrand rude!"
Hey, here, lads!"-and the servants then smartly rush all
Through the tight gap between the long bench and the wall;
But the Count barred the way; there he stood, chair in hand,
His foot on this weak rampart he took his firm stand:
"Halt there! Stand back!" called sternly, "Judge! No law allows
That my servant should suffer harm in my own house;
Who him bears a grudge, through me the plaint must be steered!"

Askance into the Count's eyes the Chamberlain then peered:
"Without your valued aid I myself can chastise
Yonder insolent fellow-you, Count, would be wise
Before judgment is passed of your rights not to boast,
Not you are here the master, nor you are our host:
Do sit still, as before, and if you this grey head
Cannot honour, respect then the office instead."

"Much I care", the Count muttered, "enough of this fooling,
Bore others with your orders and motions and rulings;
I've been fool enough sharing your crude drinking bouts,
Your booze-ups, which result in behaviour of louts.
You will pay for this slight to my family tree;
Au revoir, until sober-Gerwazy! With me!"

This reply the old noble, who just then his glass
Refilled, never thought likely, nor would allow pass;
By Count's rudeness, as by a thunderbolt, struck,
With flagon on his wine-glass in mid-motion stuck,
He inclined his head sideways, one ear outstretched far,
His eyes bulging like cart-wheels, his lips half ajar,
Kept quite still, but his goblet he squeezed with such power
That the glass, tinkling, burst, in his eyes sprayed the shower,
You would say, with the wine, fire poured into his soul,
So his face flamed with fury, his eyes burned like coal,
He sprang to speak, the first words, disjointed, blurred, ground
In his mouth, till he squeezed them out through the teeth: "Clown!
You-you countling! I'll show you! My sword, Tomasz! We'll,
Buffoon, soon teach you mores! I'll send you to hell!
Orders, offices, bore him? Such delicate ear!
I will soon these your earrings from your cranium shear!
Out of this place! To sabres! Quick, Tomasz, my sword!"

At this his friends scrambled about the old lord;
The Judge grasped his hand: "Stay, sir, your justified anger,
For this must be my quarrel. Protazy, my hanger!
I will get him to dance like a performing bear".
But Tadeusz restrained him: "My dear uncle, sir,
Good Sir Chamberlain, your honour, does it right appear
You to challenge this dandy? Aren't there young men here?
Leave him to me, and I shall soon give him his dues;
And you, brave sir, who elders to fight with would choose,
We shall see if you prove such a terrible knight;
Place and weapons tomorrow we'll choose for our fight.
Now go, while in one piece!"

This advice made good sense; 
For the Warden and Count had poor lines of defence. 
At high end of the table one hears but loud cries, 
From the bottom end many a bottle now flies 
About the Count's head. Women, alarmed, cry and fuss 
And implore; Telimena, exclaiming: "Alas!" 
Raised her eyes, half-rose, fainted away in alarm, 
And, her long neck inclining across the Count's arm, 
Upon his chest reclined she her own swan-like breast. 
The Count reined in his anger, indeed did his best, 
Began chafing, reviving. 

During this entr'acte 
On Gerwazy's head bottles and settles were cracked, 
He already swayed, tottered; fists clenched, servants' ruck 
Pummelled him from all sides, when, at last, by good luck, 
Zosia, seeing this onset, hops up, with compassion 
Shields the old man, extending her arms in cross fashion. 
They held back; and Gerwazy withdrew step by step, 
Vanished! When they looked, under the table he'd crept; 
From the other side bursting, as from underground, 
His strong arms a bench lifted and whirled it around 
Like a windmill, half hallway in one huge swing cleared, 
Seized the Count, by bench covered, the two of them steered 
Their way towards the side door, they nearly were there, 
Gerwazy paused, once more at the enemy stared, 
Pondered whether retreat, while still armed, was best, or 
Whether with his new weapon seek fortune in war. 
Chose the latter; already the bench, backward sent 
Like a battering ram for more power, head bent,
His breast thrust out, leg lifted, was ready to start
An assault... saw the Tribune... felt fear in his heart.

Sitting quiet, the Tribune, with both eyes half-closed,
Seemed immersed in deep reverie, appeared to have dozed;
Only when the Count taunted the Chamberlain, and said
To the Judge those words nasty, the Tribune his head
Turned, and snuffed some tobacco, his eyes rubbed, and chin.
Though the Judge to the Tribune was but distant kin,
He his welcoming home now for many years shared,
For his old friend's well-being immensely he cared.
So he now watched the conflict with interest, and
Lightly stretched on the table his fingers and hand,
Placed a knife on the palm, with the hilt to the tip
Of his long index finger, the blade pointing up,
Then the hand he rocked gently, the palm upward bent,
As in play, but was watching the Count with intent.

The old art of knife-throwing, for close fights perfected,
By then in Lithuania was somewhat neglected,
Known but to the old, tried once in some tavern brawl
By the Warden, the Tribune surpassed in it all.
One could tell from the arm's sweep he'll strike a hard blow,
And from his eyes too, the Count was the mark of his throw,
(The last of the Horeszkos, though on distaff side).
Less keen-eyed youths the old man's move had not descried;
Now Gerwazy grows pale, shields the Count with the board,
He withdraws to the doorway-and "Catch!" cries the horde.
As a wolf by its carrion, jumped on by a pack,
Of dogs craving his dinner, will launch in attack,
Blindly chase, to maul ready, when through the dogs' yap
It may hear a gun clicking, the wolf knows that snap,
Peering keenly soon sees at the writhing pack's rear
Half-crouching and half-kneeling, a huntsman quite near
Taking aim with his rifle to let off a round.
The wolf, sobered, tail under its legs, with one bound,
Is off, in noisy triumph pursues him the pack
At his shaggy flank snapping; the beast but turns back
Squinting and with jaws snapping, white fangs bared, and growling,
He needs only to threaten, they scamper off yowling:

Thus Gerwazy withdrew in such menacing way
With his eyes and bench keeping assailants at bay,
Till the Count and he hid in some dark deep recess.

"Catch them!" they again shouted. Short was their success:
For, overhead, the Warden, above the whole crowd
Beside the old choir organ loomed, then came a loud
Crash, when he the old lead pipes began to remove.
Would have wrought greater havoc with blows from above,
But the guests were now leaving the hall in a throng,
And the scared servants dared not maintain their ground long
And, grabbing some plate, did as their masters had done,
Even with most utensils and plate left foregone.

Who stood firm in this battle, when everyone ran
From threats and blows? Brzechalski Protazy's the man.
By the Judge's chair stood he, unmoved and unshaken,
His curial declaration in Usher's tones making,
His task done, he the empty now battlefield quit,
With corpses, ruins and wounded remaining on it.

No loss there of life human, but benches and chairs
Had legs broken; such wounds, too, the long table bears,
Stripped of cloths and of covers, fell on the plates dying,
Wet with wine, as a knight on bloody bucklers lying,
Among numerous chickens and turkeys stripped nude,
From whose breasts, transfixed lately, forks stiffly protrude.

Shortly, in the Horeszkos' deserted old house
All again relapsed into its wonted repose.
The gloom thickened; feast's remnants, once grand, lie bereaved
Like that banquet nocturnal on Forefathers' Eve
To which dead bewitched souls, it is said, are enticed.
Already from the garret the owls hooted thrice
Like warlocks hailing moon-rise; the moon's arrows strike
The table through the window; lie trembling there, like
Some dead souls purgatorial; from cellars, through holes,
Leapt and bounded out rats like a host of damned souls:
Gnaw, drink; sometimes, forgotten, in some dark nook lain,
Pops a toast to the spirits a flask of champagne.

But on the second storey, in room known to all,
Though no mirrors were there, by the name 'mirror hall',
Stood the Count on the gallery; the gateway it faced,
The wind cooled him; one arm through one coat-sleeve he placed,
Other sleeve and lapels round his neck he had draped,
The coat covering his chest as if it were a cape.
With great paces Gerwazy about the room pressed;
Deep in thought too; and thus they each other addressed:
The Count: "Pistols, say I, or swords, if they prefer".
The Warden: "To the Castle and village you're heir".
The Count: "Uncle and nephew, the whole tribe call out",
Cried the Warden: "The Castle and fields roundabout,
Village, too, you must take, sir!" He turned on the spot:
"If it's peace, you want, Dear-boy, you must grab the lot.
What's the good of court actions, it's as the day clear:
The Castle's been your family's this four hundred year!
The estate part sequestered was at Targowica,
Given, as well you know, sir, to that there Soplica.
But not that part take only, take all that is left,
For the cost of the court case, to punish the theft,
I've always said sir, all those court actions evade,
Always told you sir, you should blockade, raid, invade;
That's how it was of old: who possesses the land,
Is owner: win the battle, courts, too, you'll command.
With regard to our older disputes with this clan,
My Penknife can do much more than any court can;
And if Maciej his Switch lends, that will be enough
For us two the Soplicas to chop up like chaff."

"Bravo!" said the Count, "your plan so Gothic-Sarmatian
More my taste suits than lawyers' jejune altercations.
Hey, what? In Lithuania our foray will raise
A noise louder than any, from earliest of days,
And ourselves amuse also. Two years here I sit,
And what battles have seen? With boors over a bit
Of land. Our venture surely some spilled blood foretells,
As once during my travels abroad me befell,
A Sicilian duke's guest once, now some years ago,
Brigands in the hills kidnapped the duke's son-in-law,
And, insolent, a ransom from kinsfolk demanded;
Having post-haste the servants and vassals commanded,
We surprised them; with my hand I slew two or three,
Was first into their camp, set the prisoner free.
Ah, Gerwazy! How shone then splendidly and brightly
Our triumphal home-coming, so feudally-knightly!
Folk us greeted with flowers-duke's daughter appears,
To the rescuer grateful, embraced me with tears.
In Palermo my tale was in every gazette,
Women's glances and pointings I everywhere met.
The whole escapade even appeared there in print,
In a romance, and I was identified in't.
The book titled: 'The Count, or The Mysteries True
Of Birbante-Rocco'. Are there dungeons here too?"
"There are cellars", the Warden said, "under this hall,
But all empty! Soplicas have guzzled it all".
"Retainers", the Count added, "the valets we'll arm,
From the village, call vassals!" "God save us from harm!"
Said Gerwazy. "Such foray, is that a mere squabble?
Who would plan an incursion with servants and rabble?
My-dear-boy, you know naught that on this subject touches;
Moustaches-that is different, we need some moustaches;
From settlement, not village; not peasant, nor flunkey,
From Dobrzyn, from Rzezikow, Cietycze, Rabanki;
Ancient gentry, in whose veins but noble blood flows,
And all of the Soplicas' inveterate foes,
Well-disposed to Horeszkos and what their cause touches.
From there I'll gather surely three hundred moustaches;
That's my business. Return, sir, go home, go to bed
And sleep well, for tomorrow there's great work ahead;
You like sleep sir, it's late now, it's second cock-crow;
I shall stand here on guard till the morning light's glow,
And at dawn at Dobrzynski clan's riding will stand."

At these words, the Count stepped from the gallery; and
Just before he departed, through a crenel gazing,
And seeing in Soplicas' house many lights blazing,
"Blaze away!" cried, "tomorrow at this time will many
Bright lights shine in this castle, yours will not show any!"

On the ground sat Gerwazy, against the wall leant,
And down onto his breast the old thoughtful head bent;
The bright moonlight illumined Gerwazy's bold pate,
On which Gerwazy's finger traced lines intricate;
One could see he wove plans for the morrow's campaign.
His eyelids grew more heavy, like sacks full of grain,
Head on flabby neck sagged, sleep crept up unawares,
He from habit recited his evening prayers:
But between Pater Noster and second Hail Mary
Strange apparitions loom up around him and harry:
The Warden sees Horeszkos', his old masters' faces,
These accoutred with sabres, those carrying maces,
Each one twirls his moustache with a threatening face takes
Up his guard, points his sword, or his mace grimly shakes-
Past these flickered one silent disconsolate shade,
A stain on its breast, bloody. Gerwazy, dismayed,
Knew the Pantler; began to make signs of the cross,
And, to banish more surely this dread dream of loss,
For the souls purgatorial a litany said.
His eyes dimmed again; there was a noise in his head-
Sabres gleaming, a horde of mounted gentry speed:
A foray! At Korelicz! Rymsza in the lead!
And he sees himself there: how, upon his old gray,
With his terrible rapier raised up for the fray,
He rides: his taratatka, wind-blown, flies and flaps,
On one ear falls askew his confederate cap,
Still rides, and foot and horseman knocks into the mire,
At last burns that Soplica inside his own byre-
Till his head with dreams heavy inclined on his breast,
And Horeszkos' last warden his eyes closed for rest.