He saw his staunch supporter, his old friend,
Almost an inmate of his house, with whom
He had drunken, and made war through all those years,
Now bidding farewell, and into the world
Riding afar, the old man might be moved,
And show me somewhat yet of human soul,
As a snail his horns—
“Ah! who, though but in his inmost heart’s depth,
Has but one spark of feeling for a friend,
But will this sparkle show on taking leave,
Having his forehead for the last time touched,
The coldest eye will often shed a tear.
“The poor girl, hearing I should go away,
Grew pale, unconscious, fell almost a corpse;
Nought could she say, until she poured a stream
Of tears! I saw how dear I was to her!
I recollect, the first time in my life,
I burst in tears of joy and of despair.
I longed again before her father’s feet
To fall, to wind like serpent round his knees,
Crying, ‘Dear father, take me for thy son,
Or slay me!’—Then the Pantler, solemnly,
Cold as a pillar of salt, polite, unmoved,
Began to speak; of what?—his daughter’s wedding!
That moment!—Thou, Gervasy, friend, consider;
Thou hast a human heart! “The Pantler said,
‘Soplica, unto me the Castellan
Has sent betrothers; thou my friend art, what
Sayest thou to this? Thou knowest that I have
A daughter fair and rich. The Castellan
Is of Witepsk. True, in the Senate he has
A low seat, unconfirmed. What counsel you,
Brother?’ I cannot now at all remember
What unto him I answered; possibly
Nothing. To horse I mounted, and I fled.”
“Jacek,” the Klucznik said, “excuses wise
Thou urgest, yet they lessen not thy fault.
For truly not once only in the world,
It has occurred that one who loved a daughter
Of lord or king, has tried by violent means
To win her, thought of stealing her away;
Revenged him openly. But thus treacherous
Death to inflict, upon a Polish lord,
In Poland, and in concert thus with Russians!”
“No, not in concert,” Jacek said in grief.
“Carry her off by violence? True, I could
Have done so, could have snatched her from behind
Gratings and latches; could have ground to dust
That castle of his; I had at my back
Dobrzyn and four stout clans more. Ah! if she
Had been as our own noble ladies, strong
And healthy; had she feared not flight, pursuit;
And could she but have heard the clash of arms!
But she, poor girl! so carefully her parents
Had cherished her, that she was timid, weak,
A caterpillar, a spring butterfly;
And thus to seize her, with an armèd hand
To touch her, were to slay her! No! I could not!—
Revenge me openly, by storm to hurl
His castle into ruins? Shame! for men
Would say that I revenged me for refusal!
Klucznik, thine honest heart can never feel
What hell there lieth in offended pride.
“Pride’s demon counselled me to better plans;
To take a bloody vengeance, but conceal
The cause of vengeance; not to visit more
The castle, root that love from out my heart;
To forget Eva, marry with another;
And then to find out later some pretext,
Revenge myself—
“Then seemed it to me, that my heart had changed,
And pleased I was with this imagining,
And—married me unto the first I met,
A poor girl! Evil did I—how I was
Cruelly punished! For I loved her not,
The hapless mother of my Thaddeus!—
To me the most attached, most loving soul!—
But I within my heart my former love
And malice strangled. And I was as mad.
In vain I forced myself to husbandry,
Or business, all in vain! For by a demon.
Of vengeance driven wild, bad, irritable,
I found no comforting in aught on earth.
And thus I fell from sin to other sins,
Began to drink.
“And so my wife ere long of sorrow died,
Leaving that child; but me despair consumed.
“How dear I must have held my perished love!
So many years! where have I not been? and
I cannot yet forget her, and for aye
Her loved form stands before my eyes, as painted.
I drank; I could not for a moment drink
Mem’ry away, nor of it rid myself,
Though I have traversed o’er so many lands;
And now behold, in habit of a monk,
I am God’s servant, on this couch, in blood—
So long I have spoken of her!—in this moment
To speak of such things! God will pardon me!
You here must know in what despair and grief
That crime was done.
“ ’Twas shortly after her betrothal day;
They talked of this betrothal everywhere.
’Twas said, when Eva from the Wojewode’s hand
Received the nuptial ring, she swooned, she fell
Into a fever, that she had the symptoms
Of a consumption, that she ceaseless sobbed.
’Twas guessed she loved another secretly.
But still the Pantler, ever tranquil, merry,
Gave in the castle balls, and gathered friends.
Me he invited not; in what could I
Be useful to him? My misrule at home,
And wretchedness, my shameful custom, made
Me as a scorn and laughter to the world;—
Who once, I well may say it, shook the whole
District; whom Radziwill240 beloved called;
Who, when I forth from out my farmstead rode,
Went with a court more numerous than a prince;
And when I drew my sword some thousand sabres
Around were gleaming, frightening lordly castles.
But now the peasant children laughed at me.
Thus sudden grew I vile in eyes of men!
Jacek Soplica! Who knows what is pride?”
Here feeble grew the Bernardine, and fell
Back on the couch. Then spoke the Klucznik, roused:
“Great are Heaven’s judgments. True, true! so ’tis thou!
And thou art Jacek! Thou Soplica! under
A hood! thou livest as a beggar! Thou,
Whom I remember ruddy and in health,
A handsome noble, when the ladies praised thee,
When women raved about thee! Whisker-bearer!
Not as thou wert in former days! thus hast thou
Grown old from sorrow! How did I not know thee
After that shot, when thou didst hit the bear
So perfectly? our Litva had no marksman
Surpassing thee; thou also, after Matthew,
Wert with the sabre first! True, in past times
Our noble ladies sang concerning thee,
‘Lo! Jacek twirls his whisker, all the regions shake,
And he for whom the whisker shall this twirling make,
Were he even Prince Radziwill, shall tremble for its sake.’
And thou didst twirl it even for my lord!
Unhappy one! ’Tis thou! brought to what state!
Jacek the Whiskered is a begging friar!
Great
