All four paws like a mill, a bloody load
Of flesh, that rolled o’er just where stood the Count,
And hurled him from his feet upon the earth.
The bear still roared; he tried once more to rise,
When on him fastened the enraged Strapczyna
And furious Sprawnik. Then the Wojski seized
His buffalo horn that hung down from a string,
Long, mottled, twisted like the serpent boa,
And pressed it with both hands unto his lips.
His cheeks swelled out like gourds, and shone his eyes
With blood;138 he shut them half, and half his chest
Drew back into its depths, and forth therefrom
Sent half his store of spirit to his lungs,
And played. The horn, like to a stormy wind,
With whirling breath, bore music to the waste,
And twofold made itself with echo. Silent
The hunters and the prickers stood in wonder,
At that strong, pure, and wondrous harmony.
The old man now once more to hunters’ ears
Displayed that art, whereby he once had been
Renowned in forests. Presently he filled,
And made alive, the forests and the oaks,
As though he had a kennel loosed therein,
And had begun to hunt. For in his playing
There was of hunting an epitome.
At first a clamouring noise—the réveille;
Then groans succeeded groans, with whining cries,
And baying of dogs, and here and there a tone
Harsher like thunder—the discharge of guns.
Here broke he off, but held the horn; to all
It seemed as though the Wojski still played on,
But echo ’twas that played. He blew again.
Thou wouldst have thought the horn had changed its shape,
And now waxed greater in the Wojski’s hands,
Now thinner grew, while counterfeiting cries
Of various beasts. Now in a wolfish neck
Outstretching in a long and plaintive howl;
Again, as seething in a bearish throat,
It roared; then bellowing of bisons tore
The winds in twain. Here broke he off, but still
He held the horn; it seemed to all as though
The Wojski still played on, but echo played.
Having this masterpiece of horn-playing art
Once heard, the oaks repeated it unto
The oaks, the beeches to the beeches. Now
He blew again. As though a hundred horns
Were in that horn, were heard the mingled cries
Of pricking on, and fear, and anger; noise
Of hunters, kennels, and of beasts, till high
The Wojski raised the horn, and with a hymn
Of triumph smote the clouds. He broke off now,
But held the horn; to all it did appear
As though the Wojski still played on, but echo
It was that played. As many as the trees,
So many horns were in the pine-wood; they
Bore on the song to others, as from chorus
To chorus; on the music went, aye wider,
Aye further, softer aye, and ever purer,
And aye more perfect, till it disappeared
Somewhere, upon the threshold of the heavens.139
The Wojski, taking both hands from the horn,
Wide spread them; down the horn fell, on the belt
Of leather rocking. With a face o’erblown
And radiant, with uplifted eyes, the Wojski
Stood as inspired, pursuing by the ear,
The last tones vanishing; but meanwhile sounded
A thousand plaudits, thousand gratulations,
And shouts of “Vivat!” Silence gradually
Succeeded, and the chatterers’ eyes all turned
Upon the great, fresh bear-corpse. He lay there,
With blood all sprinkled, riddled through with balls,
His breast entangled in the thick grass fast,
And wide his forepaws like a cross seemed spread.
He breathed as yet; his nostrils poured a stream
Of blood; his eyes still opened, but his head
Moved not; the Chamberlain’s two bulldogs held him
Fast by each ear. Upon the left Strapczyna,
And Sprawnik on the right hung, strangling him,
And sucking the black blood. Thereon the Wojski
Gave orders to insert an iron rod
Between the dogs’ teeth, and to open wide
Their jaws; then with the gun-stocks were o’erturned
The animal’s remains upon their back.
Once more a threefold vivat smote the clouds.
“How?” cried the Assessor, turning round his gun;
“How then? my carabine? We have the best o’t.
How then? my carabine? ’Tis no great bird;140
But what has it performed? This is not new
To it, it lets no charge loose on the wind.
I had it as a gift from Prince Sanguszko.”
He showed a gun of marvellous workmanship,
Though small, and he began to reckon up
Its virtues.—“I,” the Assessor interrupted,
Wiping his brow, “I rushed on hard behind
The bear; but the Pan Wojski cried, ‘Stand still.’
But how stand still? The bear was straight advancing
Upon the plain, on rushing like a hare,
Further and further, till I had no breath,
No hope to overtake him. Lo! I looked
Towards the right; he stopped, and here the forest
Was thinner, so I measured with my glance.
‘Stand still,’ I thought;—e basta, there he lies
Lifeless! A fine gun this! true Sagalas!
‘Sagalas London à Balabanowka’
The inscription; there a famous gunsmith lived,
A Pole, who manufactured Polish guns,
But in the English manner them adorned.
“How?” snorts the Assessor; “many hundred bears!
Did not that one nigh kill you? What a story!”
“Just listen then,” the Regent answered back;
“Here’s no court of inquiry, sir; this is
A hunt; I take all here as witnesses.”
Then a fierce quarrel ’mid the crowd began,
Some took the Assessor’s, some the Regent’s side.
Gervasy none remembered, for they all
Had run up from the sides, nor had observed
What passed in front. The Wojski gathered voice:
“At least this time the quarrel is for something;
This, gentlemen, is not that wretched hare,
But ’tis a bear; you well may seek amends,
Either with sabre, or the pistol even.
’Tis hard to arbitrate your quarrel, so,
According to the ancient custom, we
Will grant permission for a duel. I
Remember in my time there lived two neighbours,
Both honourable men and noblemen,
From their forefathers; they on either side
Of the Wilejka river lived. One was
Domejko called, the other named Dowejko.141
Both fired together once at a she-bear.
Who slew ’twas hard to tell, and terribly
They quarrelled, and they swore to exchange their shots
Across the bear-skin. How like noblemen!
Barrel to barrel nearly! And this duel
Made a great noise then; songs were sung about it
At that time. I was second; how it happened,
I’ll tell you all the
