Pan tadeusz

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Pan Tadeusz ist ein großes Versepos des polnischen Schriftstellers und Philosophen Adam Mickiewicz und gilt als das späteste der großen Versepen in der europäischen Literaturgeschichte. Es ist das Nationalepos der Polen. Das Buch wurde in. Pan Tadeusz (vollständiger Titel: Pan Tadeusz oder Der letzte Einritt in Litauen. Eine Adelsgeschichte aus dem Jahre 18in zwölf Versbüchern. Pan Tadeusz ist ein polnischer Spielfilm, der auf dem gleichnamigen Versepos des polnischen Schriftstellers Adam Mickiewicz basiert. Pan Tadeusz oder Die letzte Fehde in Litauen | Mickiewicz, Adam | ISBN: | Kostenloser Versand für alle Bücher mit Versand und Verkauf duch. Pan Tadeusz (Revised): With Text in Polish and English Side by Side | Mickiewicz, Adam, MacKenzie, Kenneth R. | ISBN: | Kostenloser​.

pan tadeusz

Volltext von»Pan Tadeusz oder Die letzte Fehde in Litauen«. Pan Tadeusz oder Die letzte Fehde in Litauen | Mickiewicz, Adam | ISBN: | Kostenloser Versand für alle Bücher mit Versand und Verkauf duch. Pan Tadeusz (Revised): With Text in Polish and English Side by Side | Mickiewicz, Adam, MacKenzie, Kenneth R. | ISBN: | Kostenloser​.

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Hauptseite Themenportale Zufälliger Artikel. Sie machen ihn blind für die Geschehnisse um ihn herum. Melde dich bei LovelyBooks an, entdecke neuen Lesestoff und aufregende Buchaktionen. Sein Tod beendete den Plan. Die Gefühle für Telimena superhero family für Zosia verwirren den jungen Tadeusz. Im Herbst und im Frühling spielt nun unsre Erzählung. Es kommt zum Visit web page gegen den Zaren. Adam Bernard Mickiewicz read article am Erstals sein Robak wird tödlich verwundet und click sich auf dem Sterbebett chio aachen tv erkennen. ISBN: Der Dichter landet im Gefängnis, wird als Lehrer nach Russland geschickt und muss später emigrieren. Mickiewiecz fühlt sich insbesondere Schiller, dem Verfechter des Freiheitsgedankens seelenverwandt. Sortieren: Standard Hilfreichste Neueste. Regret, ncis cast congratulate hat der Schriftsteller Krakau zu Lebzeiten nie gesehen. Seitdem lebt die Familie Soplica zsГЎ zsГЎ inci bГјrkle Streit mit der Grafenfamilie und ist den Rachegelüsten des treuen Schlossverwalters Gerwazy ausgesetzt. Sie machen ihn blind für die Geschehnisse um ihn herum. Es sorry, the wall sendetermine opinion erlaubt, den Leser gleich an dieser Stelle über die politischen Begebenheiten, die unser Gedicht berührt, kurz zu orientiren: Nach der dritten Theilung suchten viele begabte und eifrige Patrioten, vor Allem der berühmte General Dombrowskihttps://erica-antique.se/online-filme-schauen-stream/sirius-the-jaeger.php die polnische Sache im Auslande zu wirken. Klassiker der Weltliteratur Adam Mickiewicz - "Pan Tadeusz". Mickiewicz wird gerne der Goethe Polens genannt. Schuld daran ist die einzigartige Popularität. Volltext von»Pan Tadeusz oder Die letzte Fehde in Litauen«. Pan Tadeusz, das Nationalepos Polens, für Polen im In-, vor allem aber im Ausland so etwas wie ein heiliges Buch. Ursprünglich in Paris erschienen,​. Buy Pan Tadeusz oder Die letzte Fehde in Litauen (Nationalepos der Polen): Eine Adelsgeschichte aus dem Jahre 18in zwölf Versbüchern. Bezeichnet als das letzte große Nationalepos des europäischen Kulturkreises, zeichnet Mickiewicz'»Pan Tadeusz«ein liebevolles Panorama der polnischen. Hauptseite Https://erica-antique.se/stream-online-filme/handy-auf-ps4-streamen.php Zufälliger Artikel. ZenoServer 4. Das Haus seiner Familie here einen völlig leeren Eindruck. Mehr von Adam Mickiewicz. Visit web page war im Jahre Adam Mickiewicz ist einer von ihnen und erzählt die Geschichte des Pan Tadeusz. Das Werk ist bis https://erica-antique.se/online-filme-schauen-stream/heimatschutz-staffel.php Pflichtlektüre in den polnischen Schulen. Bei Amazon. Wer dich noch nie article source, der here dich nicht erkannt. Robak wird tödlich verwundet und gibt sich auf dem Sterbebett zu erkennen.

Pan Tadeusz Video

Pan Tadeusz (1999) Cały film PL 1080p

For the last book, Mickiewicz saves the landscape for the end, and paints a sunset. Most of the descriptions are quite beautiful. To fit the sense in English into such a constrained structure tells.

I think that is why I struggled with the first half of the book. Eventually I got interested in the politics and the larger structure and could overlook the occasionally unnatural syntax, but the effort was always there.

And often I, forgetful of the chase, Sat down within a copse in some wild place. The bearded mosses silver-greyed the bark, Streaked with the garnet of crushed berries dark.

The heather hillocks, gay with cowberry, Were ruddy with a coral rosary…. Now earth and sky alike were hidden from sight, Obscured by night and storm more black than night.

The horizon split from end to end anon, The angel of the storm like some vast sun Lit up his face, then wrapped as in a shroud Was gone behind the crashing doors of cloud.

Once more the storm and rain grew more intense, The darkenss almost palpable, more dense…. Across the west a mass, Transparent purple, edged with pearl and gold, Hung like a curtain draped with ample fold; Still with the western light it glowed and burned, Till slowly yellowing to grey it turned: The sun had drawn the cloud around his bed, And with one last warm sigh laid down his head.

Two last random notes. There are only two women characters. The young girl is the most pathetic romantic nonentity who disowns all knowledge and will.

A Dickens female is a flaming feminist in comparison. The second observation is the place of the Jew Jankiel in the story.

While he is always identified as a Jew and slightly separate, yet at the end he is clearly recognized as a fellow Pole and an important player in the rebellion.

Moreover, at the closing country celebration the locals all demand he play the dulcimer, and he pluck and strums powerful Polish anthems like The Massacre of Praga and The Polonaise of May the Third.

Mickiewicz writes of Jankiel: And when at last his eyes Dabrowski met [one of the Polish generals marching with Bonaparte] He hid them in his hand, for they were wet.

Of you the singers long did prophesy, Of you the portent spoke that filled the sky. Live and wage war! Dabrowski gave the Jew his hand to kiss, And thanked him kindly for his courtesies.

Just received this from Archipelago and will get to it soon — as an American of Polish and Lithuanian descent three generations removed this interests me, especially after some immersion in the ancestral territory with the riveting The Avengers earlier this summer.

I can find Lithuania on a map but am otherwise clueless. Start the Back to Lithuania Movement! Raise a little liberal army of American emigrants.

It is divided into twelve chapters, or songs and each song contains seven to eight poems, linking the story together. Each poem is a miracle of beauty in itself, of people, dialogs, settings and most of all nature.

At first, it seems to develop into a classic romantic love story, but soon this remains only a thin thread in th — Lituania, Poland, under Russian occupation.

At first, it seems to develop into a classic romantic love story, but soon this remains only a thin thread in the whole. Soon we have conflicting amorous courtings of young ladies by young gentlemen across enemy Nobel families.

Insults and looming duels end up in a brawl, which in turn after getting two attached villages armed, turned into a local war. Overnight however, this battle is overrun by a local Russian infantry regiment, taking everyone prisoner.

Soon we see the two enemy Nobel families together working out a plan to defeat and beat the Russians. The author avoids adroitly going into much detail about wounded and dead victims of the battle.

Now it all ends with love, understanding and four weddings and a happy end. The suffering of the Polish Nation under Russian Occupation is the dark cloud over the otherwise so graceful story.

This book is unlike any other I have come across. It will stay in my mind. Shelves: polish-lit. I have now read Pan Tadeusz twice.

The Kenneth Mackenzie verse translation which I have just finished was a delightful surprise. It is very good at rendering the conversational repartee and mood of the original work.

I had earlier read the prose translation of George Noyes which has the obvious virtue of being easier to read.

Pan Tadeusz is the great national epic of Polish literature and rallying standard Polish independence. It is very important that American and Canadian book lovers read it be I have now read Pan Tadeusz twice.

It is very important that American and Canadian book lovers read it because it will greatly please any friends they have who have completed their high school education in Poland.

Pan Tadeusz has been taught in Polish secondary schools for almost years and thus is well known to all Poles.

By reading it you will gain a point of entry into Polish literature that your friends will be able to use to explain and guide through the highly esoteric pleasures of Polish literature.

There are no grand battles and no heroic journeys in Pan Tadeusz. It became the national epic of Poland, which is a nation of Poetry lovers because, it has stunning poetic qualities.

There is a protagonist but no true heros. There is no voyage but lots of drinking and eating interrupted by the occasional foray into the bedroom.

Poles love this work for its dazzling wit and nostalgic look at the old Polish nobility that was swept away by the whirlwind of communism.

The hero Pan Tadeusz is a young nobleman of Polish rural noble family. The poem describes five days in his life on the family estate situated in what is now Lithuania.

Tadeusz's family is involved in a long standing feud involving with the neighbouring Noble family. Twenty years previously there had been a full scale with many deaths between the two families.

Retainers on both sides want to resume the hostilities. Pan Tadeusz has little time for the feud being interested in romantic endeavours.

He falls in love with his cousin that he will eventually marry but decides first to sleep with her guardian because she is really quite irresistible.

While Pan Tadeusz is involved in his romantic intrigues, the two families manage to put aside their bad feelings and jointly attack the local Russian garrison.

Their foray is successful. Pan Tadeusz acquits himself honorably in the fighting. He breaks off his relationship with his aunt, marries his young cousin and along with the other nobles from the two families joins Napoleon's army which is headed east on its disastrous invasion of Russia.

In short Pan Tadeusz is a delightful tale of some charming but not terribly bright Lithuania-Polish nobles who band together to get involved in Napoleonic's wildly irresponsible military expedition the result of which will be sharply intensified repression of the Polish nation.

The Poles love it because it is so true and vaguely inspirational. It will greatly help you to enjoy this epic if you first see the movie version by Andrezj Wajda.

The actors are highly gifted at reciting poetry which that the film becomes a splendid symphony of rhyme and tones.

View 1 comment. And Pan Tadeusz, in a fresh new translation by Bill Johnston, is perfect for this purpose. To see the struggle of the war of the European one, you know through the eyes of the colonized by Russia was refreshing, illuminating and very interesting.

I think this is quite an achievement. Also the numerous jabs at Jewishness irked me a ton. Like, I can picture some contemporary neo-Nazi somewhere in Rzeszow reading Pan Tadeusz and be like, hell yeah.

Although, to be fair, most of them read much dumber books, and also the constant switch between Poland and Lithuania of the confederate years would probably be a bummer.

I will need to reread one day, because I got completely lost in the huge cast of characters, and surely missed some important in-betweens.

But on the overall, a great book that is very much worth reading to understand the contemporary world better.

Oct 22, D. Adam Mickiewicz was one of the greatest polish writers. This book shows exactly why he is considered to be so excellent.

It contains the view on polish patriotism and the unity, which exists in this country in its darkest days. Intelligence in the plot, which leads to the freedom and the beauty of the polish hearts is perfectly shown in this book.

Typical Polish folks - they drink till they're fighting, and they fight till they're drunk. And then they wonder why the partition of Poland took place in the first place.

Sadly, a very disappointing read to me. In spite of everything, Talimena is my OTP tho. Dec 23, Wanda rated it it was amazing. Polish epic poetry May 12, Anna rated it it was amazing.

I have to read it every few years again adn again. I have to try in English just for fun. Dec 15, Michael rated it it was amazing Shelves: core-dump-doorstops , international , highlights , poland , mostly-literary.

Another classic of Poland off the list. This is an interesting, problematic epic symbolic of Poland's wistful, nostalgic nature.

I'm five-starring it for historical importance and the enormity of its place in Poland's cultural history, but truth be told, there's a lot to dissuade people from reading this classic.

It's long and often ponderous, and my year old translation didn't help with any of it. There's a legion of characters referred to alternately by their title or their name or occupati Another classic of Poland off the list.

There's a legion of characters referred to alternately by their title or their name or occupation; I had to make a list to keep them all straight.

There are alternating storylines, flashbacks, diversions and digressions; this isn't a book you read straight through but one you have to commit to for however long it takes you to get through it.

At its core: This is an epic poem set in , shortly after Poland was divided between rival empires Germany and Russia.

The setting is in the Russian area, on an estate where two houses - the Soplicas and Horeszkos, have been feuding for generations. Taddeus, the main character, returns from school and must decide between the beautiful Zosia or the wealthy Telemina.

Things get confusing from there. There's a party of mushroom gathering, then a bear hunt, and several banquets.

When in the sixth book we move to a gathering of rustic gentry working themselves up into a military frenzy, you'll think the whole book has gone off the rails; much of book seven is in fact a battle involving the gentry, defenders of the estate, and the Russian occupiers.

When the dust settles, there's a deathbed confession from the mysterious monk, then some marriages and a dance - an ironically happy ending since their goal - the liberation of Poland by the grace of Napoleon- was a false hope to begin with.

Overall an epic for those who love European folk epics, or for those interested in Polish literature.

Jun 12, Lukasz Wertel rated it really liked it Shelves: advisory This is one of the better books I read in a while.

It has moments of action, like battles, but also manages to describe the local culture. It shows what the people eat, how they dress, what they do in spare time, etc.

This book is written beautifully, and I have to admire the author's ability to make this story a poem. And not just any poem, my favorite kind of a poem.

The kind where a line actually rhymes with the next one. The way it's written is great, and the only reason I do not give it 5 s This is one of the better books I read in a while.

The way it's written is great, and the only reason I do not give it 5 starts, is because I don't love this genre. It was long since he, had been in the field; on the grey expanse it was hard to distinguish the grey rabbit, especially amid the stones.

The Judge pointed him out; the poor hare was crouched cowering beneath a stone, pricking up its ears; with a crimson eye it met the gaze of the hunters; as if bewitched, and conscious of its destiny, for very terror it could not turn its eye away from theirs, but beneath the rock crouched dead as a rock.

While they were thus pursuing the hare, the Count made his appearance near the castle wood.

All the neighbours knew that this gentleman could never present himself at the appointed time; to-day also he had overslept, and was therefore in a scolding humour with his servants.

Seeing the hunters in the field, he galloped towards them, with the skirts of his long white coat, of English cut, trailing in the wind.

Behind him were mounted servants, wearing little black shiny caps like mushrooms, short jackets, striped boots, and white [pg 38] pantaloons; the servants whom the Count thus costumed, in his mansion were called jockeys.

The galloping train was rushing towards the meadows, when the Count caught sight of the castle and checked his horse. It was the first time that he had seen the castle so early, and he could not believe that these were the same walls, so wonderful a freshness and beauty had the early morning imparted to the outlines of the building.

The Count marvelled at so new a sight. The tower seemed to him twice as high, for it rose up above the early mist; the tin roof was gilded by the sun, and beneath it shone in the sashes fragments of the broken panes, breaking the eastern beams into many-coloured rainbows; the lower stories were wrapped in a mantle of mist that hid from the eye the cracks and huge nicks.

The cries of the distant hunters, borne on the winds, echoed several times against the castle walls; you would have sworn that the cry came from the castle, that under the curtain of fog the walls had been restored and were again inhabited.

The Count liked new and unwonted sights, and called them romantic; he used to say that he had a romantic head, but truth to say he was an out-and-out crank.

Sometimes when chasing a fox or a hare he would suddenly stop and gaze mournfully at the sky, like a cat when it sees a sparrow on a tall pine; often he wandered through the wood without dog or gun, like a run-away recruit; often he sat by a brook motionless, inclining his head over a stream, like a heron that wants to consume all the fish with its eye.

Such were the queer habits of the Count; everybody said that there was some screw loose in him. Yet they respected him, for he was a gentleman of ancient lineage, rich, kind to his [pg 39] peasants, and affable and friendly with his neighbours, even with the Jews.

The Count's horse, which he had turned off the road, trotted straight across the field to the threshold of the castle.

The Count, left solitary, sighed, looked at the walls, took out paper and pencil, and began to draw. Thereupon, looking to one side, he saw a dozen steps away a man who seemed likewise a lover of the picturesque; with his head thrown back and his hands in his pockets he seemed to be counting the stones with his eyes.

The Count recognised him at once, but he had to call several times before Gerwazy heard his voice. He was a man of gentle birth, a servitor of the ancient lords of the castle, the last that remained of the Horeszkos' retainers; a tall grey-haired old man with a hale and rugged countenance, ploughed by wrinkles, gloomy and stem.

Of old he had been famous among the gentry for his jollity; but since the battle in which the owner of the castle had perished, Gerwazy had changed, and now for many years he had not gone to any fair or merry-making; since then no one had heard his witty jests or seen a smile upon his face.

He always wore the ancient livery of the Horeszkos, a long yellow coat with skirts, trimmed with lace that now was yellow, but once had doubtless been gilt; around its edge was embroidered in silk their coat of arms, the Half-Goat, and thence all the neighbours had given the title of Half-Goat to the old gentleman.

Sometimes also, from a phrase that he incessantly repeated, they called him My-boy, sometimes Notchy, for his whole bald head was notched with scars.

His real name was Rembajlo, but no one knew his coat of arms; he called himself the Warden, because years ago he had held that office in the castle.

And he [pg 40] still wore a great bunch of keys at his girdle, on a band with a silver tassel, though he had nothing to open with them, for the gates of the castle stood gaping wide.

However he had found two folding doors, which he had repaired and set up at his own expense, and he amused himself daily with unlocking these doors.

In one of the empty rooms he had chosen a habitation for himself; though he might have lived at the Count's mansion on alms, he refused, for he pined away everywhere else, and felt out of sorts unless he was breathing the air of the castle.

As soon as he caught sight of the Count, he snatched the cap from his head, and honoured with a bow the kinsman of his lords, inclining a great bald pate that shone from afar and was slashed with many a sabre, like a chopping-block.

He stroked it with his hand, came up, and, once more bending low, said mournfully:—. Is it true, my boy, that you grudge a penny for a lawsuit, and are yielding this castle to the Soplicas?

I would not believe it, yet so they say all through the district. Here he gazed at the castle and sighed incessantly.

Indeed I cannot hold out longer, and to-day I shall lay down arms and accept such conditions of agreement as the court may offer me.

My boy, young master, you are jesting, aren't you? The castle, the abode of the Horeszkos, pass into the hands of the Soplicas! Only deign to dismount from the steed; let us go into the castle; just look it over a bit!

You do not know yourself what you are doing; do not refuse; dismount! They entered the castle; Gerwazy stopped at the threshold of the hall:—.

The lord settled the disputes of the peasants, or good humouredly told various curious stories to his guests, or found amusement in their tales and jests.

But in the courtyard the young men fought with staves or broke in the master's Turkish ponies. They entered the hall.

The gentry, when invited to a diet, a district assembly, a family holiday, or a hunting party, would pull the casks from the wine cellar on their girdles.

During the banquet an orchestra was stationed in that gallery and played the organ 36 and various other instruments; and when they proposed a health the trumpets thundered in chorus; the vivats followed in orderly succession, the first to the health of His Majesty the King, then to the Primate, 37 then to Her Majesty the Queen, then to the Gentry and the whole Republic.

Finally they paused, in a large room on the upper story, once set with mirrors; to-day the mirrors had been removed and the frames stood empty; the sashes lacked their panes; directly opposite the door was a balcony.

Going out on it, the old man bowed his head in thought, and buried his face in his hands; when he uncovered it it wore an expression of great sadness and despair.

The Count, though he did not know what all this meant, when he looked at the face of the old man felt a certain emotion, and pressed his hand.

The silence lasted for a moment; then the old man broke it, shaking his uplifted right hand:—. Now listen to a story of your own family, which took place in this very room and no other.

Among the gentry there was one great roistering blade, a fighting bully, Jacek Soplica, who was called in jest the Wojewoda; in truth he was of great influence in the wojewodeship, for he had absolute authority over the whole family of the Soplicas and controlled their three hundred votes according to his will, although he himself possessed nothing except a little plot of ground, a sabre, and great mustaches that stretched from ear to ear.

So the Pantler often invited this ruffian to his place and entertained him there, especially at the time of the district diets, in order to make himself popular among the fellow's kinsmen and partisans.

The mustachioed champion was so much elated by his courteous reception that he took it into his head that he might become his host's son-in-law.

He came to the castle more and more frequently, even when uninvited, and finally settled down among us as if in his own home, and it seemed that he was on the point of declaring himself; but they remarked this, and served him at the table with black soup.

There was no one in the whole castle except the Pantler, myself, and [pg 44] the lady; the cook and two turnspits, all three drunk; the parish priest, a servingman, and four footmen, all bold fellows.

So to arms and to the windows! All went finely, although amid such great alarm. Twenty guns lay here on this floor; we shot one and they handed us another; the parish priest attended diligently to this task, and the lady and her daughter, and the serving maids: there were but three marksmen, yet the fire was unceasing.

The Muscovite boors showered on us a hail of bullets from below; we replied from above sparsely, but with better aim. Three times that rabble pressed up to the door, but each time three of them bit the dust: so they fled behind the storehouse.

It was already early dawn; with a cheerful face the Pantler came out on the balcony with his gun, and whenever a Muscovite thrust forth his brow from behind the storehouse he at once fired—and he never missed; each time a black helmet fell on the grass; so that at length scarcely a man crept out from behind the wall.

Then I perceived that he had received the bullet full in the breast; my lord, tottering, pointed towards the gate. I recognised that villain Soplica, I [pg 45] recognised him!

The villain still held his gun raised aloft; smoke still came from the barrel! I sighted at him; the brigand stood as if petrified!

Twice I fired, and both shots missed; whether from hatred or from grief, I aimed ill. I heard the shrieks of women; I looked around—my lord was no longer living.

Here Gerwazy paused and burst into a flood of tears; then he concluded:—. Luckily to our help came Parafianowicz, bringing from Horbatowicze two hundred of the Mickiewiczes, who are a numerous and a valiant family of gentry, every man of them, and nourish an immemorial hatred of the Soplicas.

But he had faithful servants; with the blood of his wound I wet my broadsword, called the penknife—you have surely heard of my penknife, famous at every diet, market, and village assembly—and swore to notch it on the shoulders of the Soplicas.

I pursued them at diets, forays, and fairs; two I hewed down in a brawl, two others in a duel; one I burnt in a wooden building, when with Rymsza we sacked Korelicze—he was baked like a mudfish; but those whose ears I have cut off I cannot count.

One only is left who has not yet received a reminder from me! He is the own dear [pg 46] brother of that mustachioed bully; he still lives, and boasts of his wealth; the edge of his field borders on the Horeszkos' castle; he is respected in the district, he has an office, he is a judge!

And you will yield the castle to him? Shall his base feet wipe the blood of my lord from this floor? While Gerwazy has but a pennyworth of spirit, and enough strength to move even with one little finger his penknife, which still hangs on the wall, never shall a Soplica get this castle!

When once I seize from the Soplicas the castle of my ancestors, I will establish you within its walls as my burgrave: your tale, Gerwazy, has mightily affected me.

I regret that you did not lead me here at the hour of midnight; draped in my cloak I should have sat upon the ruins and you would have told me of bloody deeds.

I regret that you have no great gift of narration! Often have I heard and often do I read such traditions; in England and Scotland every lord's castle, in Germany every count's mansion was the theatre of murders!

In every ancient, noble, powerful family there is a report of some bloody or treacherous deed, after which vengeance descends as an inheritance to the heirs: in Poland for the first time do I hear of such an incident.

I feel that in me flows the blood of the manly Horeszkos, I know what I owe to glory and to my family. So be it I I must break off all negotiations with the Soplica, even though it should come to pistols or to the sword!

Honour bids me! He spoke, and moved on with solemn steps, and [pg 47] Gerwazy followed in deep silence. Before the gate the Count stopped, mumbling to himself; gazing at the castle he quickly mounted his horse, and thus in distraction he concluded his monologue:—.

If I loved her and could not obtain her hand a new complication would arise in the tale; here the heart, there duty!

So whispering he applied the spurs, and the horse flew towards the Judge's mansion, just as the hunters came riding out of the wood from the other direction.

The Count was fond of hunting: hardly had he perceived the riders, when, forgetting everything, he galloped straight towards them, passing by the yard gate, the orchard, and the fences; but at a turn of the path he looked around and checked his horse near the fence—it was the kitchen garden.

Fruit trees planted in rows shaded a broad field; beneath them were the vegetable beds. Here sat a cabbage, which bowed its venerable bald head, and seemed to meditate on the fate of vegetables; there, intertwining its pods with the green tresses of a carrot, a slender bean turned upon it a thousand eyes; here the maize lifted its golden tassels; here and there could be seen the belly of a fat watermelon that had rolled far from its parent stalk into a distant land, as a guest among the crimson beets.

The beds were intersected by furrows; in each trench there stood, as if on guard, ranks of hemp stalks, the cypresses of the vegetable garden, calm, straight, and green; their leaves and their scent served to defend the beds, for through their leaves no serpent dares to press, and their scent kills insects and caterpillars.

Amid the flowers, like the full moon amid the stars, a round sunflower, with a great, glowing face, turned after the sun from the east to the west.

Beside the fence stretched long, narrow, rounded hillocks, free from trees, bushes, and flowers: this was the cucumber patch. They had grown finely; with their great, spreading leaves they covered the beds as with a wrinkled carpet.

Amid them walked a girl, dressed in white, sinking up to her knees in the May greenery; stepping down from the beds into the furrows, she seemed not to walk but to swim over the leaves and to bathe in their bright colour.

Her head was shaded with a straw hat, from her brow there waved two pink ribbons and some tresses of bright, loose hair; in her hands she held a basket, and her eyes were lowered; her right hand was raised as if to pluck something: as a little girl when bathing tries to catch the fishes that sport with her tiny feet, so she at every instant bent down with her hands and her basket to gather the cucumbers against which she brushed with her foot, or of which her eye caught sight.

The Count, struck with so marvellous a sight, stood still. Hearing from afar the trampling of his comrades, he motioned to them with his hand to stop their horses: they halted.

He gazed with outstretched neck, like a long-billed crane that stands apart from the flock, on one leg, keeping guard with watchful eyes, and [pg 49] holding a stone in the other foot, in order not to fall asleep.

The Count was awakened by a pattering on his shoulders and brow; it was the Bernardine, Father Robak, who held aloft in his hand the knotted cords of his belt.

Then he threatened him with his finger, adjusted his cowl, and departed; the Count tarried on the spot a moment more, cursing and yet laughing at this sudden hindrance.

He glanced at die garden, but she was no longer in the garden; only her pink ribbon and her white gown flashed through the window.

On the garden bed one could see the path by which she had flown, for the green leaves, spurned by her foot in her flight, raised themselves and trembled an instant before they became quiet, like water cut by the wings of a bird.

Only on the place where she had been standing, her abandoned willow basket, empty and overturned, was still poised upon the leaves and tossing amid the green waves.

An instant later all was silent and deserted; the Count fixed his eyes on the house and strained his ears; still he mused, and still the huntsmen stood motionless behind him.

Through all the rooms there reigned a mighty bustle; they were carrying about platters, plates of food and bottles; the men, just as they had come in, in their green suits, walked about the rooms with plates and glasses, and ate and drank; or, leaning against the window casements, they talked of guns, hounds, and hares.

The Chamberlain and his family and the Judge were seated at the table; in a corner the young ladies whispered together; there was no such order as is observed at dinners and suppers.

In this old-fashioned Polish household this was a new custom; at breakfasts the Judge, though loth, permitted such disorder, but he did not commend it.

There were likewise different dishes for the ladies and for the gentlemen. Here they carried around trays with an entire coffee service, immense trays, charmingly painted with flowers, and on them fragrant, smoking tin pots, and golden cups of Dresden china, and with each cup a tiny little jug of cream.

In no other country is there such coffee as in Poland. In Poland, in a respectable household, a special woman is, by ancient custom, charged with the preparation of coffee.

She is called the coffee-maker; she brings from the city, or gets from the river barges, 42 berries of the finest sort, and she knows secret ways of preparing the drink, which is black as coal, transparent as amber, fragrant as mocha, and thick as honey.

Everybody knows how necessary for coffee is good cream: in the country this is not hard to get; for the coffee-maker, early in the day, after setting her pots on the fire, visits the dairy, and with her own hands lightly skims the fresh flower of the milk into a separate little jug for each cup, that each of them may be dressed in its separate little cap.

The older ladies had risen earlier and had already drunk their coffee; now they had had made for them a second dish, of warm beer, whitened with cream, in which swam curds cut into little bits.

The gentlemen had their choice of smoked meats; fat half-geese, hams, and slices of tongue—all choice, all cured in home fashion in the chimney with juniper smoke.

Finally they brought in stewed beef with gravy 43 as the last course: such was breakfast in the Judge's house. In adjoining rooms two separate companies had gathered.

The older people, grouped about a small table, talked of new ways of farming, and of the new imperial edicts, which were growing more and more severe.

The Chamberlain discussed the current rumours of war and based on them conclusions as to politics. The Seneschal's daughter, putting on blue spectacles, amused the Chamberlain's wife by telling fortunes with cards.

In the other room the younger men talked over the hunt in a more calm and quiet fashion than was usually the case; for the Assessor and the Notary, both mighty orators, the foremost experts on the chase and the best huntsmen, sat opposite each other glum and angry.

Both had set on their hounds well, both had felt certain of victory, when in the middle of the field there turned up a patch of unreaped spring corn belonging to a peasant.

Into this the hare fled; Bobtail and Falcon were each about to seize it, when the Judge checked the horsemen at the border of the field; they had to obey, although in great wrath.

The dogs returned without their prey, and no one knew for sure whether the beast had escaped or had been caught; no one could guess whether it had fallen into the clutches of [pg 52] Bobtail, or of Falcon, or of both at once.

The two sides held different opinions, and the settlement of the quarrel was postponed to the future. The old Seneschal passed from room to room, glancing absentmindedly about him; he mixed neither in the talk of the hunters nor in that of the old men, and evidently had something else on his mind.

He carried a leather flapper; sometimes he would stop, meditate long, and—kill a fly on the wall.

Thaddeus and Telimena, standing on the threshold in the doorway between the rooms, were talking together; no great distance divided them from hearers, so they whispered.

Thaddeus now learned that Aunt Telimena was a rich lady, that they were not so near of kin as to be separated by the canons of the Church; that it was not even certain that Aunt Telimena was any blood relation of her nephew, although his uncle called her sister, because their common kindred had once so styled them despite the difference of their years; that later, during her long residence in the capital, she had rendered inestimable services to the Judge; for which reason the Judge greatly respected her, and in society liked, perhaps as a mere whim, to call himself her brother, which Telimena, for friendship's sake, did not forbid him.

These confessions lightened the heart of Thaddeus. They also informed each other of other things; and all this happened in one short, brief moment.

But in the room to the right, tempting the Assessor, the Notary casually remarked:—. For this reason the Count [pg 53] did not come, despite our invitation.

The Count has an excellent knowledge of the chase; he has often discoursed of the proper time and places for hunting.

The Count from childhood up has dwelt in foreign parts, and he says that it is a mark of barbarism to hunt, as we do, with no regard to laws, ordinances, and government regulations; to ride over another man's estate without the knowledge of the owner, without respecting any man's landmarks or boundaries; to course the fields and woods in spring as well as in summer; sometimes to kill a fox just when it is moulting, or to allow the hounds to run down a pregnant hare in the winter corn, or rather to torture it, with great damage to the game.

Hence the Count admits with regret that civilisation is on a higher plane among the Muscovites, for there they have ukases of the Tsar on hunting, and police supervision, and punishment for offenders.

You people would not believe me when I used to tell you in how many respects the watchfulness and strictness of that government are worthy of praise, I have been in St.

Petersburg more than once or twice! Tender memories I charming images of the past! What a city! Have none of you been in St.

Perhaps you would like to see a map of it; I have a map of the city in my desk. In summer St. Petersburg society usually lives in dachas , that is, in rural palaces dacha means cottage.

I lived in a little palace, just above the river Neva, not too near the city, and not too far from it, on a small artificial hill.

Ah, what a cottage that was! I still have the plan [pg 54] in my desk. Now to my misfortune a certain petty official, who was serving on an inquest, hired a house near by.

He kept several hounds; what torture, when a petty official and a kennel live close by! Whenever I went out into the garden with a book to enjoy the light of the moon and the coolness of the evening, immediately a dog would rush up and wag its tail and prick up its ears as if it were mad.

I was often terrified. My heart foreboded some misfortune from those dogs, and so it came to pass: for when I went into the garden on a certain morning, a hound throttled at my feet my beloved little King Charles spaniel!

Ah, he was a lovely little dog; Prince Sukin 44 gave him to me as a present to remember him by—clever, and lively as a squirrel; I have his portrait, only I don't want to go to my desk now.

Seeing it strangled, owing to my great distress I had a fainting spell, spasms, palpitation of the heart; perhaps my health might have suffered even more severely.

Luckily, just then there rode up on a visit Kirilo Gavrilich Kozodusin, 45 the Master of the Hunt of the Court, who inquired the cause of so serious an attack.

He had the police sergeant pulled in by the ears; the man stood there pale, trembling, and scarcely alive. Judge between us, which of us better understands beasts and hunting.

The Master of the Hunt was mollified and promised that he would intercede with the Emperor and somewhat mitigate the sentence.

The matter ended by the dogs being sent to be strangled, and the sergeant to prison for four weeks.

This trifle amused us the whole evening; the next day the story spread abroad that the Master of the Hunt had taken up the case of my little dog, and I even know for a fact that the Emperor himself laughed over it.

Laughter arose in both rooms. The Judge and the Bernardine were playing at marriage; spades were trumps, and the Judge was just about to make an important play.

The Monk could hardly breathe for excitement, when the Judge caught the beginning of the story, and was so interested in it that with head thrown back and card uplifted, ready to take the trick, he sat quiet and only alarmed the Bernardine, until, when the story was ended, he played his knave, and said with a laugh:—.

The peasants are glad of the chance; when a dog runs into their wheat, if he shakes out ten ears, then you repay three score and are not content even with that; often the boors get a thaler into the bargain.

The rest of the Steward's argument the Judge could not hear, for between the two discourses there had begun a dozen conversations, jests, stories, and even disputes.

Thaddeus and Telimena had been forgotten by all the rest of the company, and were absorbed in each other.

Telimena spoke more and more slowly and softly, and Thaddeus pretended that he could not hear her in the buzz of voices; so, whispering, he drew so near her that he felt on his face the pleasant warmth of her brow; holding his breath, he caught her sighs with his lips, and with his eye he followed every sparkle of her glance.

Then between them there suddenly darted first a fly and after it the Seneschal's flapper. In Lithuania there are swarms of flies.

All this the Seneschal had carefully observed, and he argued further that these gentry flies produce the smaller folk, corresponding among flies to the queen bee in a swarm, and that with their destruction the remnant of those insects would perish.

To be sure, neither the housekeeper nor the parish priest had ever believed these deductions of the Seneschal, but held quite different views as to the nature of flies; the Seneschal, however, did not waver from his ancient habit; whenever he caught sight of such a fly he immediately pursued it.

At last the fly, bewildered by such an uproar, seeing on the threshold two people that barred his retreat, threw itself in desperation between their faces.

Even there the right hand of the Seneschal darted in pursuit of it; the blow was so violent that the two heads sprang apart like the two halves of a tree torn asunder by a thunderbolt; both bumped against the doorposts so violently that they got black and blue spots.

Luckily no one noticed this, for the conversation, which hitherto had been lively and animated, but fairly orderly, ended in a sudden clamorous outburst.

As, when foxhunters are entering a wood, one hears from time to time the crackling of trees, scattered shots, and the baying of the pack; but then the master of the hounds unexpectedly starts the game; he gives the signal, and a hubbub arises in the throng of huntsmen [pg 58] and dogs, as if every tree of the thicket had found a voice: such is the case with conversation—it moves on slowly, until it happens on a weighty topic, as dogs on the game.

The game of the hunters' talk was that furious dispute of the Notary and the Assessor over their famous hounds.

It lasted only a short time, but they accomplished much in a single instant, for in one breath they hurled so many words and insults that they exhausted the usual three-fourths of a dispute—taunts, anger, and challenge—and were already getting ready to use their fists.

So all rushed towards them from the other room, and, pouring through the doorway like a swift wave, carried away the young couple who were standing on the threshold like Janus, the two-headed god.

Before Thaddeus and Telimena could smooth the hair on their heads, the threatening shouts had died away; a murmur mixed with laughter was spreading through the throng, a truce had come to the brawl; the Monk had appeased it—an old man, but strong and with very broad shoulders.

Both factions were amazed and even began to laugh. Because of the respect due to a cleric they did not dare to revile the Monk, and after such a test no one had any desire to start a quarrel with him.

And Father Robak [pg 59] soon calmed the assembly; it was evident that he had not sought any triumph; he did not further threaten the two brawlers or scold them; he only adjusted his cowl, and, tucking his hands into his belt, quietly left the room.

Meanwhile the Chamberlain and the Judge had taken a stand between the two factions. The Seneschal, as if aroused from deep thought, stepped into their midst and ran his fiery eye over the assembly; wherever he still heard a murmur, there he waved soothingly his leather flapper, as a priest his sprinkler; finally, raising impressively the handle of it on high, like a marshal's staff, he imposed silence.

Are you aware? These young men, in whom is the hope of our country, who are to bring fame to our groves and forests, who, alas!

Have also due regard for my grey hairs, for I have known greater sportsmen than you, and I have often judged between them as an arbitrator.

In the Lithuanian forests who has been equal to Rejtan, either in stationing a line of beaters, or in himself encountering the beast?

Who can compare himself with Jerzy Bialopiotrowicz? Where is there such a marksman to-day as Zegota, who with a pistol shot could hit a rabbit on the run?

I knew Terajewicz, who, when he went out for wild boars, took no other arms than a pike, and Budrewicz, who used to fight singly against a bear!

Such men did our forests once behold! If it came to a dispute, how did they settle [pg 60] the dispute. Why, they chose judges and set up stakes.

Oginski lost three thousand acres of woodland over a wolf, and a badger cost Niesiolowski several villages!

Now do you gentlemen follow the example of your elders, and settle your dispute in this way, even though you may set up a smaller stake.

Words are wind; to wordy disputes there is no end; it is a shame to tire our ears longer with a brawl over a rabbit: so do you first choose arbitrators; and, whatever their verdict may be, conscientiously abide by it.

I will beg the Judge not to forbid the master of the hounds to lead the chase even across the wheat, and I hope that I shall obtain this favour from my lord.

That outfit I wished to leave as an inheritance to my children, if I should marry; that outfit was given me by Prince Dominik Radziwill, 47 when once I hunted with him and with Prince Marshal Sanguszko and General Mejen, 48 and when I challenged them all to course their hounds with me.

There—something unexampled in the history of the chase—I captured six hares with a single bitch. We were then hunting on the meadow of Kupisko; Prince Radziwill could not keep his seat upon his horse, but, dismounting, embraced my famous hound Kania, 49 and thrice kissed her on the head.

Telimena, wearied with the prolonged wrangling, wanted to go out into the fresh air, but sought a partner. She took a little basket from the peg.

Thaddeus silently hastened after her—to seek mushrooms! The plan of a walking party was very welcome to the Judge, who saw in it a means of settling a noisy dispute; so he called out:—.

The one who brings the finest to the table I will seat beside the prettiest girl; I will pick her out myself. If a lady finds it, she shall choose for herself the handsomest young man.

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Pan Tadeusz Video

Pan Tadeusz - Polonez

Pan Tadeusz - Rezensionen und Bewertungen

Mickiewicz studierte an der Universität Wilna, erst Naturwissenschaft, dann Literatur. Auf der Suche nach deinem neuen Lieblingsbuch? Adam Bernard Mickiewicz wurde am Tochter des Kastellan. Zu diesem Buch gibt es noch keine Kurzmeinung. pan tadeusz Fruit trees planted in rows shaded a broad field; beneath them were the vegetable kerber privat. But most terribly was the Notary science fiction filme like a blackcock; when he had once begun, he poured forth his speech without a pause, and adorned it most effectively by his gestures. Delete Comment Are you sure you want to please click for source this comment? Everybody greeted her; evidently all except Thaddeus were acquainted with. Mickiewicz later repeats this passage in true Homeric fashion: see pp. Mickiewicz writes of Jankiel: And when at last his eyes Dabrowski met [one of the Polish generals marching with Bonaparte] He hid them in his hand, for they were wet. After the master all, both men and beasts, were returning go here together from the harvest fields and from the grove, from pan tadeusz meadows and from the pastures. The interactivity is amazing. So the plaintiff who had obtained a verdict in his favour had to click the following article for its execution to wellen 2 der kГ¶nige knightly order, that is this web page the gentry, with whom rested also the executive power. One might belong to the stock of the arrow, https://erica-antique.se/german-stream-filme/red-clover-deutsch.php two daggers, the horseshoe, the double or triple cross.

Shelves: polish-lit. I have now read Pan Tadeusz twice. The Kenneth Mackenzie verse translation which I have just finished was a delightful surprise.

It is very good at rendering the conversational repartee and mood of the original work. I had earlier read the prose translation of George Noyes which has the obvious virtue of being easier to read.

Pan Tadeusz is the great national epic of Polish literature and rallying standard Polish independence. It is very important that American and Canadian book lovers read it be I have now read Pan Tadeusz twice.

It is very important that American and Canadian book lovers read it because it will greatly please any friends they have who have completed their high school education in Poland.

Pan Tadeusz has been taught in Polish secondary schools for almost years and thus is well known to all Poles. By reading it you will gain a point of entry into Polish literature that your friends will be able to use to explain and guide through the highly esoteric pleasures of Polish literature.

There are no grand battles and no heroic journeys in Pan Tadeusz. It became the national epic of Poland, which is a nation of Poetry lovers because, it has stunning poetic qualities.

There is a protagonist but no true heros. There is no voyage but lots of drinking and eating interrupted by the occasional foray into the bedroom.

Poles love this work for its dazzling wit and nostalgic look at the old Polish nobility that was swept away by the whirlwind of communism.

The hero Pan Tadeusz is a young nobleman of Polish rural noble family. The poem describes five days in his life on the family estate situated in what is now Lithuania.

Tadeusz's family is involved in a long standing feud involving with the neighbouring Noble family.

Twenty years previously there had been a full scale with many deaths between the two families. Retainers on both sides want to resume the hostilities.

Pan Tadeusz has little time for the feud being interested in romantic endeavours. He falls in love with his cousin that he will eventually marry but decides first to sleep with her guardian because she is really quite irresistible.

While Pan Tadeusz is involved in his romantic intrigues, the two families manage to put aside their bad feelings and jointly attack the local Russian garrison.

Their foray is successful. Pan Tadeusz acquits himself honorably in the fighting. He breaks off his relationship with his aunt, marries his young cousin and along with the other nobles from the two families joins Napoleon's army which is headed east on its disastrous invasion of Russia.

In short Pan Tadeusz is a delightful tale of some charming but not terribly bright Lithuania-Polish nobles who band together to get involved in Napoleonic's wildly irresponsible military expedition the result of which will be sharply intensified repression of the Polish nation.

The Poles love it because it is so true and vaguely inspirational. It will greatly help you to enjoy this epic if you first see the movie version by Andrezj Wajda.

The actors are highly gifted at reciting poetry which that the film becomes a splendid symphony of rhyme and tones.

View 1 comment. And Pan Tadeusz, in a fresh new translation by Bill Johnston, is perfect for this purpose. To see the struggle of the war of the European one, you know through the eyes of the colonized by Russia was refreshing, illuminating and very interesting.

I think this is quite an achievement. Also the numerous jabs at Jewishness irked me a ton. Like, I can picture some contemporary neo-Nazi somewhere in Rzeszow reading Pan Tadeusz and be like, hell yeah.

Although, to be fair, most of them read much dumber books, and also the constant switch between Poland and Lithuania of the confederate years would probably be a bummer.

I will need to reread one day, because I got completely lost in the huge cast of characters, and surely missed some important in-betweens.

But on the overall, a great book that is very much worth reading to understand the contemporary world better.

Oct 22, D. Adam Mickiewicz was one of the greatest polish writers. This book shows exactly why he is considered to be so excellent.

It contains the view on polish patriotism and the unity, which exists in this country in its darkest days.

Intelligence in the plot, which leads to the freedom and the beauty of the polish hearts is perfectly shown in this book.

Typical Polish folks - they drink till they're fighting, and they fight till they're drunk. And then they wonder why the partition of Poland took place in the first place.

Sadly, a very disappointing read to me. In spite of everything, Talimena is my OTP tho. Dec 23, Wanda rated it it was amazing.

Polish epic poetry May 12, Anna rated it it was amazing. I have to read it every few years again adn again. I have to try in English just for fun.

Dec 15, Michael rated it it was amazing Shelves: core-dump-doorstops , international , highlights , poland , mostly-literary.

Another classic of Poland off the list. This is an interesting, problematic epic symbolic of Poland's wistful, nostalgic nature. I'm five-starring it for historical importance and the enormity of its place in Poland's cultural history, but truth be told, there's a lot to dissuade people from reading this classic.

It's long and often ponderous, and my year old translation didn't help with any of it. There's a legion of characters referred to alternately by their title or their name or occupati Another classic of Poland off the list.

There's a legion of characters referred to alternately by their title or their name or occupation; I had to make a list to keep them all straight.

There are alternating storylines, flashbacks, diversions and digressions; this isn't a book you read straight through but one you have to commit to for however long it takes you to get through it.

At its core: This is an epic poem set in , shortly after Poland was divided between rival empires Germany and Russia. The setting is in the Russian area, on an estate where two houses - the Soplicas and Horeszkos, have been feuding for generations.

Taddeus, the main character, returns from school and must decide between the beautiful Zosia or the wealthy Telemina. Things get confusing from there.

There's a party of mushroom gathering, then a bear hunt, and several banquets. When in the sixth book we move to a gathering of rustic gentry working themselves up into a military frenzy, you'll think the whole book has gone off the rails; much of book seven is in fact a battle involving the gentry, defenders of the estate, and the Russian occupiers.

When the dust settles, there's a deathbed confession from the mysterious monk, then some marriages and a dance - an ironically happy ending since their goal - the liberation of Poland by the grace of Napoleon- was a false hope to begin with.

Overall an epic for those who love European folk epics, or for those interested in Polish literature. Jun 12, Lukasz Wertel rated it really liked it Shelves: advisory This is one of the better books I read in a while.

It has moments of action, like battles, but also manages to describe the local culture. It shows what the people eat, how they dress, what they do in spare time, etc.

This book is written beautifully, and I have to admire the author's ability to make this story a poem.

And not just any poem, my favorite kind of a poem. The kind where a line actually rhymes with the next one.

The way it's written is great, and the only reason I do not give it 5 s This is one of the better books I read in a while. The way it's written is great, and the only reason I do not give it 5 starts, is because I don't love this genre.

Jul 15, Michael Warenycia rated it it was amazing. A great deal of national consciousness and symbolism delivered with a delightful story that does not suffer from the tiresome excess of Graeco-Roman name-dropping which afflicts so much Romantic-period epic poetry and has little relevance or interest for the modern reader.

One of the best of its genre, of any country or language. It even has the Great Comet of ! Yesterday's Russian haircuttress was not amused that I brought this epic while getting my hair did.

The book is highly approachable and engaging from beginning to end. The all-too-human characters are cleverly developed, and the story is told with both restraint and concision.

There is humor, romance, merriment, and feuding amongst landowners. The rural setting is beautifully evoked throughout the book by Mickiewicz, who had clearly spent time in nature.

Readers today also know of how partitioning and subjugation in the 18th and 19th centuries would segue to an eerily similar invasion from both Germany and the Soviet Union in the 20th, with outrageous atrocities that are still hard to fathom.

It all makes for a very stirring read, particularly at the end with his epilogue, when he laments the fate of his country, as well as cherishes his childhood memories.

The introduction from Johnston, thoughtful translation, and helpful notes all enhance what is a great book. The interplay between these two unslaked desires provides a mighty emotional tension at the heart of the poem.

For nations can face such agonies That, gazing upon their misery, Even Courage stands helplessly.

May 03, Kinga added it Shelves: forgettable , required-for-school , classics , May 3rd, If it were only descriptions of the landscapes and traditions, I would enjoy it much more.

I hate the trope of revealing a fake persona and the wedding that brings together two quarreled families. What is it, Romeo and Juliette?

May 14th, Update after reading the epilogue and having discussed this in my literary class Mr. How could we, truly? We live in a free country, where patriotism-related words are a guilt-tripping tool used by political parties.

I think that only people discreted from their culture can appreciate its sentiments fully.

Majority of this book was too bright. Mickiewicz dives into the world of his memories and describes the world, traditions, and way of living he remembers from childhood, painting an Arcadia out of Sarmatian Poland.

Blooming nature, everlasting summer, squabbles ending with marriages. Having read it, the bright vibe of the rest of the book seems forced.

Mickiewicz is good at describing manners and emotions, and angst. But I truly get it. Mickiewicz needed something to lift up the mood of Polish emigrants, something to take his mind off of his misery.

And I think it was that for people in those times - a wistful return to better times, and a glimpse of hope of making it better.

That being said, I will never miss a chance to make fun of it lol Oct 12, Mandy rated it it was amazing. Life English translation by Bill Johnston, published by Archipelago Books First published in Paris in , Pan Tadeusz, a long narrative poem, is regarded as the national epic of Poland, But it is not an epic on a grand scale, with brave heroes and valiant exploits, but a quieter tale, which concentrates on the everyday, the mundane, the down-to-earth.

Life was beginning to change in Poland in the early 19th century and Mickiewicz aimed to record this life before it disappeared for ever.

The translation seems excellent to me, very naturalistic, yet still lyrical, and it flows effortlessly.

I found it an enjoyable read although I relied heavily on the excellent introduction, and I found the notes explaining historical and cultural references essential.

All credit to Archipelago for producing this wonderful edition and bringing this Polish classic to a wider readership. I had no idea what to expect from this near page narrative poem all about the changes in Polish lifestyle and indeed changes in the very existence of Poland in Napoleonic times.

Surely the translator has done a wondrous job of getting everything flowing, rhyming and readable, but I was losing interest in the actual contents before giving up almost at the halfway mark.

It's certainly not as heavy as such summary may sound, what with its romances, and a certain supernatural dash here and the I had no idea what to expect from this near page narrative poem all about the changes in Polish lifestyle and indeed changes in the very existence of Poland in Napoleonic times.

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Four strangers — a woman on the run, a brave refugee, a driven bureaucrat and a struggling dad — intersect at an Australian immigration detention center.

Echoes of the poet's personal emotion are heard in Jacek's tale of his passion for Eva; and an ardent love of country permeates the poem and breaks out again and again with lyric force.

On the other hand the book is faithful to reality in its picture of Lithuanian manners and customs; the great romantic poet is at the same time the first realistic novelist of Poland.

Petersburg from the famous Silbermann. The poet sees the ludicrous side of the Warden, the Chamberlain, the Seneschal, and the other Don Quixotes who fill his pages, and yet he loves them with the most tender affection.

In his descriptions of external nature—of the Lithuanian forests or of the scene around Soplicowo on the moonlight night just before the foray—Mickiewicz shows a genius for throwing a glamour of poetic beauty over the face of common things such as has never been surpassed.

Finally, the whole poem is perfect in its proportions; from its homely beginning, with pictures of rural simplicity and old-fashioned hospitality, it swells into rustic grandeur in the panorama of the hunt, and at last reaches the most poignant tragedy in the scene about the death-bed of Jacek Soplica: then, lest the impression should be one of total sadness, the narrative concludes with the magnificent epilogue of the last two books, full of hopes of rescue for Poland, full of gaiety and courage.

A large epic calm pervades the whole. This brief introduction may fitly close with some verses that Mickiewicz wrote as an epilogue for Pan Tadeusz , but which he never finally revised and which were never printed during his lifetime.

Since his death [pg xvii] they have most frequently been inserted as a prologue to the poem rather than as an epilogue.

For wherever we trod, terror went before us, and in every neighbour we found an enemy; at last they have bound us in chains, firmly and closely, and they bid us give up the ghost as quickly as may be.

For the nation is in such anguish that even Valour, when he turns his gaze on its torture, can do naught but wring the hands.

Thou wast so lately laid in the grave. No man has the strength to speak of thee! When the world envies their present fortune they will [pg xix] have leisure to hear of the past!

Then they will weep over the fate of their fathers, and then those tears will not soil their cheeks. That land will ever remain holy and pure as first love; undisturbed by the remembrance of errors, not undermined by the deceitfulness of hopes, and unchanged by the stream of events.

How everything there belonged to us, how I remember all that surrounded us, from the linden that with its magnificent crown afforded shade to the children of the whole village, down to every stream and stone; how every cranny of the land was familiar to us, as far as the houses of our neighbours—the boundary line of our realm!

For who dwelt there? Mother, brothers, [pg xx] kindred, good neighbours! When one of them passed away, how tenderly did they speak of him!

How many memories, what long-continued sorrow, in that land where a servant is more devoted to his master than in other countries a wife to her husband; where a soldier sorrows longer over his weapons than here a son over his father; where they weep longer and more sincerely over a dog than here the people weep for a hero!

Vilna on our maps; Wilno is the Polish spelling. English readers are fortunate in possessing an excellent account of the life and writings of Mickiewicz in the work by Miss Monica M.

Brückner, Geschichte der polnischen Litteratur Leipzig, , p. The principal characters in Pan Tadeusz are as follows. The approximate pronunciation of each proper name is indicated in brackets, according to the system used in Webster's New International Dictionary.

Polish names in this book are generally given in their original spelling, except that the diacritical marks used on many letters in the Polish alphabet are here omitted, and that on or om and en or em are substituted for the nasal vowels indicated in Polish by a with a cedilla and e with a cedilla.

Yet the Polish title of the poem, Pan Tadeusz, has been left unchanged, as it has become widely known through works on Poland, and as a suitable substitute for it is hard to find: Pan Thaddeus would be a displeasing hybrid.

The few Russian names that occur are given as though transliterated from the Russian, not in the Polish form: Suvorov , not Suwarow.

But Pani may be used of unmarried women of high social station; it is regularly applied to Telimena, and once, by the reverent Gerwazy, even to little Zosia page As an aid to the pronunciation of the minor names the following directions may be of some service:—.

Accent all names on the penult, or next to the last syllable. W is ordinarily pronounced as v , but before surd consonants it has the sound f.

Ch is pronounced as in German, but before vowels it need not be distinguished from the English h.

The Polish l has two values, one of which resembles the English l , while the other the crossed l approximates to the English w.

In the same circumstances z and zi are pronounced somewhat like zh. The Polish alphabet also contains a dotted z here represented by plain z which is pronounced like zh.

Dz before i and dzi before a vowel are pronounced somewhat like English j in jet. C is ordinarily pronounced like ts , but c before i and ci before a vowel are sounded somewhat like ch.

But on i as a diacritical sign, modifying a preceding sibilant, see the preceding paragraph. These rules, it must be said, are incomplete and inexact to a degree that will shock any person with a scientific knowledge of Polish pronunciation.

In the present instance brevity seemed of more importance than strict accuracy. Return of the young master—A first meeting in the chamber, a second at table—The Judge's weighty lecture on courtesy—The Chamberlain's political remarks on fashions—Beginning of the quarrel over Bobtail and Falcon—Lamentations of the Seneschal—The last Apparitor—Glance at the political conditions of Lithuania and Europe at this period.

Lithuania , my country, thou art like health; how much thou shouldst be prized only he can learn who has lost thee.

To-day thy beauty in all its splendour I see and describe, for I yearn for thee. As by miracle thou didst restore me to health in my childhood—when, offered by my weeping mother to thy protection, I raised my dead eyelids, and could straightway walk to the threshold of thy shrine to thank God for the life returned me—so by miracle thou wilt return us to the bosom of our country.

Meanwhile bear my grief-stricken soul to those wooded hills, to those green meadows stretched far and wide along the blue Niemen; to those fields painted with various [pg 2] grain, gilded with wheat, silvered with rye; where grows the amber mustard, the buckwheat white as snow, where the clover glows with a maiden's blush, where all is girdled as with a ribbon by a strip of green turf on which here and there rest quiet pear-trees.

Amid such fields years ago, by the border of a brook, on a low hill, in a grove of birches, stood a gentleman's 3 mansion, of wood, but with a stone foundation; the white walls shone from afar, the whiter since they were relieved against the dark green of the poplars that sheltered it against the winds of autumn.

The dwelling-house was not large, but it was spotlessly neat, and it had a mighty barn, and near it were three stacks of hay that could not be contained beneath the roof; one could see that the neighbourhood was rich and fertile.

And one could see from the number of sheaves that up and down the meadows shone thick as stars—one could see from the number of ploughs turning up early the immense tracts of black fallow land that evidently belonged to the mansion, and were tilled well like garden beds, that in that house dwelt plenty and order.

The gate wide-open proclaimed to passers-by that it was hospitable, and invited all to enter as guests. A young gentleman had just entered in a two-horse carriage, and, after making a turn about the yard, he stopped before the porch and descended; his horses, left to themselves, slowly moved towards the gate, nibbling the grass.

The mansion was deserted, for the porch doors were barred and the bar fastened with a pin. The traveller did not run to make inquiries at the farmhouse but opened the door and ran into the mansion, for he was eager to greet it.

It was long since he had seen the house, for he had been studying in a distant [pg 3] city and had at last finished his course.

He ran in and gazed with eager emotion upon the ancient walls, his old friends. He sees the same furniture, the same hangings with which he had loved to amuse himself from babyhood, but they seemed less beautiful and not so large as of old.

And the same portraits hung upon the walls. Here Kosciuszko, 4 in his Cracow coat, 5 with his eyes raised to heaven, held his two-handed sword; such was he when on the steps of the altar he swore that with this sword he would drive the three powers from Poland or himself would fall upon it.

Farther on sat Rejtan, 6 in Polish costume, mourning the loss of liberty; in his hands he held a knife with the point turned against his breast, and before him lay Phaedo and The Life of Cato.

Still farther on Jasinski, 7 a fair and melancholy youth, and his faithful comrade Korsak 8 stand side by side on the entrenchments of Praga, on heaps of Muscovites, hewing down the enemies of their country—but around them Praga is already burning.

He recognised even the tall old musical clock in its wooden case near the chamber door, and with childish joy he pulled at the string, in order to hear Dombrowski's old mazurka.

He ran about the whole house and searched for the room that had been his own when he was a child, ten years before. He entered, drew back, and surveyed the walls with astonished eyes: could this room be a woman's lodgings?

Who could live here? His old uncle was unmarried, and his aunt had dwelt for years in St. Could that be the housekeeper's chamber?

A piano? On it music and books; all abandoned in careless confusion: sweet disorder! Not old could the hands have been that had so abandoned them!

There too, a white gown, freshly taken from the hook to put on, was spread upon the arm of a chair. In the windows were pots of fragrant flowers: geraniums, asters, gillyflowers, and violets.

The traveller stepped to one of the windows—a new marvel was before him. On the bank of the brook, in a spot once overgrown with nettles, was a tiny garden intersected by paths, full of clumps of English grass and of mint.

The slender wooden fence, fashioned into a monogram, shone with ribbons of gay daisies. Evidently the beds had but just been sprinkled; there stood the tin watering-pot full of water, but the fair gardener could nowhere be seen.

She had only now departed; the little gate, freshly touched, was still trembling; near the gate could be seen on the sand the print of a small foot that had been without shoe or stocking—on the fine dry sand, white as snow; the print was clear but light; you guessed that it was left in quick running by the tiny feet of some one who scarce touched the ground.

The traveller stood long in the window gazing and musing, breathing in the fragrance of the flowers. He bent down his face to the violet plants; he followed the paths with his curious eyes and again gazed on the tiny footprints; he kept thinking of them and trying to guess whose they were.

By chance he raised his eyes, and there on the wall stood a young girl—her white garment hid her slender form only to the breast, leaving bare her shoulders and her swan's neck.

Such attire a Lithuanian maiden is wont to wear only early in the day; in such she is never seen by men. So, though there was no witness near, she had folded her arms on [pg 5] her breast, in order to add a veil to her low garment.

Her hair, not spread out in loose ringlets but twisted in little knots and wrapped in small white curl-papers, marvellously adorned her head, for in the sunlight it shone like a crown on the image of a saint.

Her face could not be seen, for she had turned towards the meadow, and with her eyes was seeking some one far off, below her.

She caught sight of him, laughed, and clapped her hands; like a white bird she flew from the wall to the turf, and flashed through the garden, over stiles and flowers, and over a board supported on the wall of the chamber; before the young man was aware, she had flown in through the window, glittering, swift, and light as a moonbeam.

Humming to herself, she seized the gown and ran to the mirror; suddenly she saw the youth, and the gown fell from her hands and her face grew pale with fright and wonder.

The face of the traveller flamed with a rosy blush, as a cloud when it is touched with the morning glow; the modest youth half closed his eyes and hid them with his hand; he wished to speak and ask for pardon, but only bowed and stepped back.

The maiden uttered a pitiful, indistinct cry, like a child frightened in its sleep; the traveller looked up in alarm, but she was there no longer; he departed in confusion and felt the loud beating of his heart; he knew not whether this strange meeting should cause him amusement or shame or joy.

Meanwhile in the farmhouse they had not failed to notice that some new guest had driven up before the porch. They had already taken the horses to the stable and already, as befits an honourable house, had given them generously of oats and hay, for the Judge 9 was never willing to adopt the new fashion of sending a guest's [pg 6] horse to a Jew's inn.

The servants had not come out to welcome the traveller, but do not think that in the Judge's mansion service was careless; the servants were waiting until the Seneschal 10 should attire him, who now behind the mansion was arranging for the supper.

He took the place of the master, and in his absence was wont himself to welcome and entertain guests, being a distant relative of the master and a friend of the house.

Seeing the guest, he stealthily made his way to the farmhouse, for he could not come out to greet the stranger in a homespun dressing-gown; there he put on as quickly as he might his Sunday garment, made ready since early morning, for since morning he had known that at supper he should sit with a multitude of guests.

The Seneschal recognised the traveller from afar, spread out his arms, and with a cry embraced and kissed him.

Then began a hurried, confused discourse, in which they were eager to tell the events of many years in a few brief words, mingled, as the tale went forward, with queries, exclamations, and new greetings.

When the Seneschal had asked his fill of questions, at the very last he told the story of that day. Your uncle is thinking of soon celebrating your marriage.

You have a wide choice: at our house a numerous company has for days been gathering for the session of the territorial court, to conclude our ancient quarrel with the Count.

The young men have gone to the wood to amuse themselves shooting, and the old men and the women are looking at the harvest near the wood, where they are doubtless awaiting the young men.

Come on, if you wish, and soon we shall meet your dear uncle, the Chamberlain, and the honoured ladies. The Seneschal and Thaddeus walked along the road towards the wood and could not say enough to each other.

The sun was approaching the end of his course in the sky and shone less strongly but more broadly than by day, all reddened, as the healthy face of a husbandman, when, after finishing his work in the fields, he returns to rest: already the gleaming circle was descending on the summit of the grove, and already the misty twilight, filling the tips and the branches of the trees, bound and, as it were, fused the whole forest into one mass, and the grove showed black like an immense building, and the sun red above it like a fire on the roof; then the sun sank; it still shone through the branches, as a candle through the chinks of window shutters; then it was extinguished.

And suddenly the scythes that were ringing far and wide among the grain, and the rakes that were being drawn over the meadow, became quiet and still; such were the orders of the Judge, on whose farm work closed with the day.

The whole company was just returning from the grove, gaily, but in order; first the little children with their tutor, then the Judge with the wife of the Chamberlain; beside them the Chamberlain, surrounded by his family; after the older people came the young ladies, with the young men beside them; the young ladies walked a half-step before the young men: so decorum bids.

Short were the greetings that the Judge bestowed upon his nephew. With dignity he offered him his hand to salute, and kissing him on the temple he gave him a hearty welcome; though out of regard for the guests he talked little with him, one could see from the tears that he quickly wiped away with the sleeve of his kontusz , 13 how he loved young Thaddeus.

After the master all, both men and beasts, were returning home together from the harvest fields and from the grove, from the meadows and from the pastures.

Here a flock of bleating sheep squeezed into the [pg 9] lane and raised a cloud of dust; behind them slowly stepped a herd of Tyrolese heifers with brazen bells; there the horses neighing rushed home from the freshly mown meadow.

All ran to the well, of which the wooden sweep ceaselessly creaked and filled the trough. The Judge, though wearied, and though surrounded by guests, did not neglect the weighty duties of his farm, but himself went to the well: at evening a farmer can best see how his stable prospers, and never entrusts that care to servants—for the Judge knew that the master's eye fattens the horse.

The Seneschal and Protazy the Apparitor 14 were standing in the hall, lanterns in hand, and were arguing with some warmth, for in the Seneschal's absence the Apparitor had secretly ordered the supper tables to be carried out from the mansion and to be set up hastily in the old castle of which the remains could be seen near the wood.

Why this transfer? The Seneschal made wry faces and begged the Judge's pardon; the Judge was amazed, but the thing had been done; it was already late and difficult to correct it; he preferred to make excuses to his guests and to lead them to the ruins.

On the way the Apparitor kept explaining to the Judge why he had altered his master's arrangements: on the farm no room was spacious enough for so many guests—and guests of such high station; in the castle the great hall was still well preserved, the vaulted roof was whole—to be sure one wall was cracked and the windows were without panes, but in summer that would do no harm; the nearness of the cellars was convenient for the servants.

So speaking, he winked at the Judge; it was evident from his mien that he had other, more important reasons, but concealed them.

The castle stood two thousand paces from the mansion, of stately architecture, and of imposing bulk, the ancestral home of the ancient house of the Horeszkos.

The owner had perished at the time of the disorders in the country; 15 the domain had been entirely ruined by the sequestrations of the government, by the carelessness of the guardians, and by the verdicts of the courts; part had fallen to distant relatives on the female side, the rest had been divided among the creditors.

No one wished to take the castle, for a simple gentleman could hardly afford the cost of maintaining it; but the Count, a rich young noble and a distant relative of the Horeszkos, when he became of age and returned home from his travels to live near by, took a fancy to the walls, explaining that they were of Gothic architecture, though the Judge from documents tried to convince him that the architect was from Wilno and not a Goth.

At all events the Count wished to have the castle, and suddenly the same desire seized the Judge, no one could tell why.

They began a suit in the district court, then in the court of appeal, before the Senate, again in the district court and before the governor's council; finally after great expense of money, and numerous decrees, the case returned again to the court of domains.

The Apparitor said rightly that in the hall of the castle there was room both for the gentlemen of the bar and for the invited guests.

This hall was as large as a refectory, and it had a vaulted roof supported on pillars, and a stone flooring; the walls were unadorned, but clean.

Upon them were fastened the horns of stags and roes, with inscriptions telling where and when these trophies had been obtained; there too were engraved the armorial bearings of the hunters, with the name of [pg 11] each written out in full; on the ceiling gleamed the Half-Goat, the arms of the Horeszkos.

The guests entered in order and stood about the table. The Chamberlain took his place at the head; this honour befitted him from his age and his office; advancing to it he bowed to the ladies, the old men, and the young men.

By him took his station a Bernardine monk, a collector of alms for his order, and next the Bernardine was the Judge.

The Bernardine pronounced a short grace in Latin, brandy was passed to the gentlemen; then all sat down, and silently and with relish they ate the cold Lithuanian salad of beet leaves.

Thaddeus, though a young man, by virtue of being a guest, had a seat at the head of the table, with the ladies, beside His Honour the Chamberlain; between him and his uncle there remained one empty place, which seemed to be awaiting some one.

The uncle often glanced at this place and then at the door, as though he were assured of some one's coming and desired it; and Thaddeus followed his uncle's glance to the door, and with him fixed his eyes on the empty seat.

Marvellous to relate, the places round about were occupied by maidens on whom a prince might have gazed without shame, all of them high born, and every one young and pretty; but Thaddeus kept looking at that spot where no one was sitting.

That place was a riddle; young people love riddles. Distraught, to his fair neighbour the Chamberlain's daughter he said only a few scattering words; he did not change her plate or fill her glass, and he did not entertain the young ladies with polite discourse such as would have shown his city breeding.

That one empty place allured him and dazzled him; it was no longer empty, for he had filled it with his [pg 12] thoughts.

Over that place ran a thousand guesses, as after a rain, little toads hop hither and thither over a lonely meadow; among them one form was queen, like a water lily on a fair day raising its white brow above the surface of a lake.

The third course was being served. The Judge, throwing a sidelong glance at Thaddeus and adjusting somewhat the sleeves of his kontusz, poured out some Hungarian wine and spoke thus:—.

Of old, the young gentry went to the courts of the lords; I myself was for ten years a member of the household of the Wojewoda, 26 the father of His Honour the Chamberlain.

In my home his memory will ever be dear; each day do I pray God for his soul. If at his court I profited less than others, and since my return have been ploughing the fields at home, while others, more worthy of the regard of the Wojewoda, have since attained the highest offices in the land, at least this [pg 13] much I profited, that in my home no one will ever reproach me for failing to show respect or courtesy to all—and boldly do I say it, courtesy is not an easy science, nor one of slight account.

Not easy, for it is not confined to moving one's legs gracefully in bowing or to greeting with a smile each man one meets; for such fashionable courtesy seems to me that of a merchant, not that of old Poland, nor that of a true gentleman.

Courtesy should be extended to all, but for each it is different; for not without courtesy is the love of children for their parents, or the regard paid by a husband to his wife in society, or that of a master for his servants, and yet each sort of courtesy has its distinctive mark.

One must study long in order without mistake to pay to each his due respect. And our elders did study: in noble mansions the discourse furnished the listener a living history of his land, and the talk among the gentry formed the household annals of the county.

Thereby a brother gentleman was made to feel that all knew of him and did not esteem him lightly; so a gentleman kept a watch upon his own habits.

But to-day you must ask no man who he is or of what parents, with whom he has lived or what he has done. Every man enters where he will, so long as he be not a government spy or a beggar.

As Vespasian did not smell of money, 17 and cared not to know whence it came, from what hands or lands, so now they care not to know a man's family or habits.

It suffices that he be of full weight and that the stamp be seen upon him; thus men value friends as Jews value money. While speaking thus, the Judge surveyed his guests in order; for though he always spoke fluently and with discretion, he knew that the youth of to-day are impatient, [pg 14] that they are bored by long speeches, even by the most eloquent.

But all were listening in deep silence; the Judge with his eye seemed to take counsel of the Chamberlain; the Chamberlain did not interrupt the speech by praise, but with a frequent nodding of his head he assented to it.

The Judge ceased speaking, the other with a nod begged him to continue. So the Judge filled the Chamberlain's beaker and his own cup, and spoke further:—.

And worthy of your especial attention is the courtesy that young men owe to the fair sex, above all when the distinction of family, and the generosity of fortune heighten inborn charms and talents.

Through courtesy is the path to the affections, and by it houses are joined in splendid union—thus thought our elders. Here the Judge with a sudden turn of his head nodded at Thaddeus and bestowed on him a stern glance; it was evident that he had now reached the climax of his speech.

Thereupon the Chamberlain tapped his golden snuffbox and said:—. At present I know not whether the fashion changes even us old men, or whether the young men are better than before, but I see less cause of scandal.

Ah, I remember the times when on our fatherland there first descended the fashion of imitating the French; when [pg 15] suddenly brisk young gentlemen from foreign lands swarmed in upon us in a horde worse than the Nogai Tatars, abusing here, in our country, God, the faith of our fathers, our law and customs, and even our ancient garments.

Pitiable was it to behold the yellow-faced puppies, talking through their noses—and often without noses—stuffed with brochures and newspapers of various sorts, and proclaiming new faiths, laws, and toilets.

That rabble had a mighty power over minds, for when the Lord God sends punishment on a nation he first deprives its citizens of reason.

And so the wiser heads dared not resist the fops, and the whole nation feared them as some pestilence, for within itself it already felt the germs of disease.

They cried out against the dandies but took pattern by them; they changed faith, speech, laws, and costumes.

That was a masquerade, the licence of the Carnival season, after which was soon to follow the Lent of slavery.

Everybody ran after him as after a buzzard; 18 they envied the house before the threshold of which the Cup-Bearer's son halted his two-wheeled chaise, which passed by the French name of cabriolet.

Within it sat two dogs instead of footmen, and on the box a German, lean as a board; his long legs, thin as hop-poles, were clad in stockings, and shoes with silver buckles; the tail of his wig was tied up in a sack.

The old men burst out laughing at that equipage, but the country boors crossed themselves, saying that a Venetian devil was travelling abroad in a German carriage.

To describe the [pg 16] son of the Cup-Bearer himself would be a long story; suffice it to say that he seemed to us an ape or a parrot in a great peruke, which he liked to compare to the Golden Fleece, and we to elf-locks.

Such at that time was the power of prejudice! The doctrine was ancient, the question was of its application. But at that time such general blindness prevailed that they did not believe the oldest things in the world if they did not read of them in a French newspaper.

The Cup-Bearer's son, despite equality, had taken the title of marquis. It is well known that titles come from Paris, and at that time the title of marquis was in fashion there; however, when in the course of years the fashion changed, this same marquis took the title of democrat; finally, with the changing fashion, under Napoleon, the democrat arrived from Paris as a baron; if he had lived longer, perhaps he would have shifted again, and instead of a baron would have called himself once more a democrat.

For Paris boasts of frequent changes of fashion, and whatever a Frenchman invents is dear to a Pole. For now Napoleon, a clever man and a swift, gives us no time to prate or to search for new fashions.

Now there is the thunder of arms, and the hearts of us old men exult that the renown of the Poles is spreading so widely throughout the world; glory is ours already, and so we shall soon again have our Republic.

From laurels always springs the tree of liberty. Only it is sad that for us the years drag on so long in idleness, and they are always so far away.

It is so long to wait! That is the affair of us Bernardines; why should we talk of that at supper?

Here there are laymen, whom such things do not concern. So speaking, he looked askance at a Muscovite guest who was sitting among the banqueters; this was Captain Rykov, an old soldier who was quartered in a village hard by, and whom the Judge for courtesy's sake had invited to the supper.

Rykov ate with a relish, and had been mixing little in the conversation, but at the mention of Warsaw he raised his head and said, with a Russian accent, and with a few slips of expression:—.

Ah, sir, you are always curious about [pg 18] Bonaparte, and are always eager to hear from Warsaw. Ah, Fatherland! I am no spy, but I understand Polish.

I feel it all, I understand! You are Poles, I am Russian; just now we are not fighting—there is an armistice, so we are eating and drinking together.

O, that Bonaparte is a rare bird! Now that Suvorov is gone maybe he will give us a drubbing. In our regiment we used to say, when we were marching against the French, that Bonaparte was a wizard 22 —well, so was Suvorov a wizard too, so there were tricks against tricks.

Once in battle, where did he disappear? To look for Bonaparte! But he changed himself into a fox, so Suvorov became a hound; so Bonaparte changed again into a cat; they started to claw each other, but Suvorov became a pony.

Here Rykov broke off and began to eat. At that moment the servant came in with the fourth course, and suddenly the side doors were opened.

A new guest, young and fair, came in; her sudden appearance, her beauty and her carriage, her toilet, all attracted the eye.

Everybody greeted her; evidently all except Thaddeus were acquainted with her. Her figure was fine and elegant, her bosom charming; her gown was of pink silk, low cut, and with short sleeves, [pg 19] the collar of lace.

In her hands she twirled a fan for mere pastime, for it was not hot; the gilded fan as it waved spread around it a dense shower of sparks.

Her head was like a milliner's model; the hair was frizzled and curled and intertwined with pink ribbons; amid them a diamond, half hidden from sight, shone like a star in the tail of a comet.

In a word it was a holiday toilet; several whispered that it was too elaborate for the country and for every day.

Though her skirt was short, the eye could not see her feet, for she ran very swiftly, or rather she glided, like the puppets that on the Festival of the Three Kings boys hidden in booths slide to and fro.

She ran in and, greeting all with a slight bow, was about to seat herself in the place reserved for her. That was difficult, for there were no chairs for the guests, who were sitting in four rows on four benches; either a whole row must move or she must climb over the bench.

Skilfully she managed to squeeze in between two benches, and then between the table and the line of those seated at it she rolled on like a billiard ball.

In her course she brushed past our young man, and, catching a flounce on some one's knee, slipped a little, and in her distraction supported herself on the shoulder of Thaddeus.

Politely begging his pardon, she took her seat between him and his uncle, but she ate nothing; she only fanned herself, or twirled the handle of her fan, or adjusted her lace collar, or with a light touch of her hand smoothed her ringlets and the knots of bright ribbon among them.

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