Such number of dramatic scenes and stories.
Soon as I shall recover from Soplica
The castle of my ancestors, I will
Install thee in the palace as my Burgrave.78
Thy tale, Gervasy, has much taken me;
Pity thou didst not bring me here at night,
Draped in a mantle: I would sit on ruins,
And thou shouldst tell me of these bloody deeds.
Pity thou hast no great gift of relating.
I sometimes have heard such, and read, traditions.
In England and in Scotland every lord’s79
Castle, in Germany each noble’s court,
A theatre was of murders. Every ancient,
Noble, and powerful family had some
Report of blood or of some treacherous deed,
For which must vengeance fall upon the heirs,
As legacy. I hear for the first time
Of such in Poland. In me flows, I feel,
The brave Horeszkos’ blood, and I do know
That which is due to glory—and my race!
Yes! I must break all compact with Soplica,
Although it come to pistols or the sword—
Honour commands!” With solemn step he strode,
But in deep silence came Gervasy after.
Standing before the door, unto himself
The Count kept talking, and upon the castle
Gazing, he quickly mounted on his horse,
His solitary conversation thus
Absently ending: “ ’Tis a pity that
This old Soplica has no wife, fair daughter,
Whose beauty I might worship! Loving her,
And yet not able to obtain her hand,
Would bring fresh complication in the tale.
The heart here, duty there; love here, and there
Revenge.” Thus whispering he spurred his steed.
It flew towards the mansion, as up rode
The hunters from the other side. The Count
Loved hunting; when the hunters he perceived,
Forgetting all besides he sprang them toward.
He passed the gate, the garden, and the hedge
When, turning round, he looked about, and stayed
The horse before the hedge. There was the orchard!
The fruit-trees, set in rows, did shadow o’er
The broad fields; ’neath the trees the garden beds.
The cabbage here, its bald and hoary pate
Low bending, seems to meditate upon
The fate of vegetables; the slim bean,
Weeping its pods into the tresses of
The carrot green, did turn a thousand eyes
Upon it; there the Indian corn upraised
Its golden plume; and here and there was seen
A gourd’s fat belly, from its stalk detached,
Which to a distant part had rolled away,
Among the crimson beetroot as a guest.
The garden beds were parted by a ridge:
In every trench there stood, as though on guard,
The hemp in ranks; a cypress-seeming herb,
Quiet, and green, and upright. In its leaves
And odour garden beds do find defence,
For through these leaves no viper dares to creep;
Their odour also grubs and vermin slays.
White stalks of poppies tower further on;
Thou thinkest, swarms of butterflies thereon
Are sitting, fluttering their wings, whose lustre
Of precious gems doth change with rainbow tints.
With lively colours of much variousness
The poppy lures the eye. Among the flowers
Like the full moon among the lesser stars,
A sunflower, with its round, large, burning face,
From east to west twists, following the sun.
Beneath the hedge long, narrow, convex hillocks,
Without or trees, or flowers, or bushes, made
A garden there for cucumbers; they grew
Luxuriantly, with their large, wide leaves,
Covering the beds, like carpet with deep folds.
Among them walked a damsel, clothed in white,
Plunging in green luxuriance to her knees.
Down-bending in the furrows from the beds,
It seemed she walked not, but she swam through leaves,
While bathing in their colour. She had veiled
Her head with a straw hat, and from her brow
Two rosy ribbons waved, and some bright curls
Of loose dishevelled tresses. In her hand
She held a basket; she cast down her eyes,
And lifted her right hand, as though to seize;
Like to a child who bathing chases fishes
That play around her feet; so she each moment
With hand and basket bent down for the fruit,
Struck by her foot, or by her eye perceived.
The Count, enchanted by such wondrous sight,
Stood silent. Hearing trampling from afar,
Of his companions, with his hand he signed
To them to stay their horses; and they stayed.
He gazed with stretched neck, like a long-beaked crane,
Far from the flock, as sentry on one leg
Standing, with watchful eyes, and not to sleep,
Holding a stone within his other claw.
A rustle on his shoulders and his brow
Aroused the Count; it was the Bernardine,
Friar Robak, and he had within his hand,
Upraised, his girdle with its knotty cords.
“Do you want cucumbers?” he shouted. “Sir,
Here have you cucumbers!80 Beware of harm!
For in these beds there grow no fruits for you.
Nothing will come of this.” Then with his finger
He threatened him, drew down his cowl, and went.
The Count remained a while yet on the spot,
Laughing, and cursing too at the same time
This sudden interruption. To the garden
His glance returned; she was not in the garden;
Only in centre of a little window,
Flitted her rosy ribbon and white frock.
Upon the garden beds was visible
The way she fled by; for a green leaf, which
Her foot disturbed in running, trembled yet
A moment, until quiet, like the water
A bird hath cloven with its wings; and on
The spot where late she stood, the little basket
Of willow, with its under side upturned,
The fruit all spilled, was hanging on the leaves,
And ’mid the verdant billows still it rocked.
After a moment lonely everywhere
And gloomy ’twas. The Count now fixed his eyes
Upon the house, and pricked his ears up, still
In meditation, and the hunters stood
Yet motionless before him; till there rose
Within the silent, solitary house,
A murmur first, then noise, and joyous shout,
As in an empty hive, when bees fly in.
A sign was this the guests had come from hunting,
And servants hastened to get ready breakfast.
Through all the rooms a great confusion reigned,
They carried dishes, bottles, covers round.
The men, as they had entered, in green jackets,
With plates and glasses, walking through the rooms,
Ate, drank, or leaning on the window-sill,
Conversed of rifles, greyhounds, and of hares.
The Chamberlain, his wife, the Judge, together,
All three sat at a table; in a corner
The youthful ladies whispered to each other.
Such order as at dinner and at supper
Was not observed. This was a novel custom
In an Old-Polish house at breakfast time.
The Judge, though he unwillingly allowed
This great disorder, yet approved it not.
Dishes of various sorts for men
