For him, since he was from his ancestors
A lord, and rich, and good unto the peasants,
Kind to his neighbours, even to the Jews.
The Count’s horse, turned aside, along the field
Ambled straight onward to the castle doors.
Being now alone, the Count did heave a sigh,
Gazed on the walls, then from his pocket drew
Paper and pencil, and some figures traced.
Then did he look aside, and saw a man
Some twenty paces off, who, like himself,
A lover of fine views, with head upraised,
Appeared to number all the building’s stones.
At once he knew him, but the Count must call
A many times aloud, before Gervasy
Could hear his voice. He was a nobleman,
A servant of the castle’s former lords,
The last remaining courtier of Horeszko,
A tall old man, and hoary, with a face
Hearty and healthy, ploughed with wrinkles, sad,
Severe; though once for joyousness renowned
Among the nobles; but aye since that fight,
In which the castle’s lord had lost his life,
Gervasy totally was changed, and now
For many years had neither been to fair
Or wedding; from that time his witty jests
No more were heard, and nevermore was seen
A smile upon his face. He ever wore
The ancient livery of Horeszko’s house;
A yellow jacket, with long hanging skirts,
Bound round with lace, which, now a faded yellow,
Had once been golden. Round his neck were broidered
Half-goats, armorial bearings of that house,
Thence all the neighbourhood called the old man
Polkozic,61 also from a word which he
Repeated ceaselessly, Mopanku,62 called him;
Notchpate63 at times, from his bald pate all covered
With seams and scars; his true name was Rembajlo;
His crest unknown. He called himself the Klucznik,64
Because he held that office years ago,
And still a bunch of keys wore at his girdle,
Bound by a cord with silver tassel, though
He nothing had to open, for the doors
Stood open in the castle. Yet he found
Two doors within, and at his own expense
Repaired and set them up, and every day
Amused himself with opening these doors.
He for himself an empty chamber chose,
Within the castle, for his private dwelling.
Although he might have eaten bread of favour
In the Count’s house, he would not, for he felt
Homesick, and unwell everywhere, if he
Breathed not the air of the old castle. Soon
As he perceived the Count, he doffed his cap,
Honouring with reverence his lord’s far-off kin;
Low bending his bald pate, that gleamed afar,
And like an axe by many sword-blades scathed,
He stroked it with his hand, approached, and low
Bending once more, said in sad tones: “Mopanku,
Panisko,65 pardon me that thus I speak;
Illustrious Sir Count, it is my custom,
Not disrespectful, for the Horeszkos all
Were used to say Mopanku; the last Pantler,66
My master, always would employ that word.
Is it true, Mopanku, that you grudge the cost
Of lawsuits, and will give this castle up
To the Soplicas? I would not believe it.
But thus they say in all the district.” Here,
Gazing upon the castle, without ceasing,
He sighed. “What wonder,” said the Count, “the cost
Is great; the trouble greater still; I want
To end it. But that tedious old noble
Is obstinate; he did foresee he could
Weary me out; and I in very deed
No longer will oppose him. I to-day
Lay down my sword, accepting such conditions,
As shall be offered to me by the court.”
“What, peace!” exclaimed Gervasy; “what, Mopanku!
Peace with Soplicas!” As he uttered this,
He writhed his lips, as greatly marvelling
At his own speech. “What, peace, and the Soplicas?
Mopanku and my dear lord, you are jesting!
How? shall the castle, shall Horeszko’s stronghold
Pass into the Soplicas’ hands? My lord,
Deign but dismount. Go we into the castle.
Let but my lord consider. He knows not
That which he does. My lord, refuse not me.
Dismount.” He held the stirrup for descent.
They went into the castle. There Gervasy
Stood on the threshold of the hall awhile.
“Here,” said he, “by their court surrounded, sat
The ancient lords, in high chairs. After dinner,
The lord would judge the quarrels of the peasants;
Or, if in a good humour, to his guests
Related curious histories, or else
Would entertain with merry jests and tales.
But in the courtyard would the young men strive
At single-stick, or rode on Turkish ponies,
Expressly bred for noblemen.” They entered
The hall. Gervasy said: “In this great hall,
Stone-paved, we find not now so many stones,
As they broached wine-casks in the good old times.
The noblemen invited to the diet,
Or sejmik, on the name-day of my lord,
Or for the chase, drew beer-tubs from the cellars,
Tied to their girdles. And while passed the feast,
Musicians stood within that lofty choir,
The organ playing,67 and other instruments;
And when a health was drunk the trumpets brayed
In chorus, as upon the judgment day.
Each vivat went around in order due,
The first health to his Majesty the king
They drank, and next the Primate’s health,68 and after
Unto her Majesty the queen, the health
Of all the nobles, and the whole Republic.
When the fifth bumper had at length been drained,
They raised the toast of ‘Love we one another.’69
Vivat unceasing sounded till the dawn;
And each one’s equipage all ready stood,
To bear each reveller unto his house.”
They now had passed some chambers. Silently
Gervasy now his glance fixed on the wall,
Now on the archèd roof, recalling here
A tragic memory, and now one dear.
And then as he had said, “All now is o’er,”
He nodded grievingly his head; at times
He waved his hand; remembrance visibly
Was torture to him, and he fain would chase it.
At length they stayed their steps, in a great hall
Above, once lined with mirrors, but to-day
The frames stood empty of the looking-glass,
Long torn away; the windows held no panes.
A balcony stood opposite the door.
Here entering, the old man bowed his head,
And in his hands concealed his face, and when
He did unveil it, on it was a look
Of deepest sorrow and despair. The Count,
Though ignorant what this should signify,
Yet looking on the old man’s countenance,
Felt strangely moved, and pressed his hand. Awhile
This silence lasted, which the old man
