Pan Tadeusz

1798. Following numerous wars,

the huge Polish-Lithuanian state

was disbanded by Russia, Prussia and Austria.

1807. Poland's last hope was France.

Napoleon, after defeating Prussia,

occupied Poland.

1812. With Polish troops he marched on Moscow.

Lithuania, on the way, awaited liberation.

But Napoleon's defeat in Russia

dashed Poland's dreams of freedom.

1831. After a bloody uprising against Russia,

many Polish freedom fighters

found refuge in France.

1834. There, in Paris, Adam Mickiewicz

wrote his poem "Pan Tadeusz".

What can be my thoughts here in Paris?

My ears hear the noise, the lies and curses

rising from the city,

and with untimely plans

regrets and quarrels!

Pity us exiles!

We fled to foreign lands

to live among strangers!

Every neighbour sees in us a foe.

One happiness remains:

to sit by the fire with a few friends

to close one's doors to Europe's uproar,

and escape in thought to happier days

and dream of one's own land...

MASTER THADDEUS

Well, my Tadeusz,

I am happy you are home,

when there are such fine ladies here.

Your uncle thinks of marrying you soon.

The choice is wide.

We await the judgement on limits

to settle our age-old dispute with the Count.

The Count himself will be here tomorrow.

Let us go, if you agree,

and join your uncle, the Judge, the knights...

And the ladies?

He was long absent

completing his studies.

At last, he's back.

Little master,

dear young sir...

Forgive me for addressing you so,

your excellency the Count,

but it's an old habit,

not irreverence.

We called all the Horeszkos "little master",

so I'll address you so,

my lord.

Is it true you're being sparing with money for the lawsuit

and the Soplicas will have the castle?

Is that so odd?

The cost is great and the bother

even greater.

I wish to end this, but Soplica is dragging it out.

He's sure I'll yield out of boredom.

I'll lay down my arms and accept the verdict.

I trust you're jesting?

You'd let Horeszko castle and the estate

go to the Soplicas?

I pray you dismount.

Let's go into the castle. You don't know what you're doing.

Do not refuse.

Count!

Dismount!

Listen to the story

of your own family,

which took place in this very hall,

and in no other.

My late master, first lord of the district,

a wealthy man of a noted family,

had but one child, a girl as beautiful as an angel.

All the gentry and young notables courted her.

Among the latter was a roistering blade

a fighting bully, Jacek Soplica,

who was nicknamed "The Governor."

He had great influence

and of the Soplica family

he was the head.

So my master often invited this ruffian

to his place,

especially during the local assemblies,

and it made him popular among the fellow's kinsmen.

But he became so elated

by the lord's reception that he got the notion to become

Horeszko's son-in-law. He wished to propose

but they saw his plan

and rejected his offer.

It seems the daughter had taken a fancy to Soplica,

and kept it from her parents.

This took place at the time of the insurrections.

Our master favoured

the Constitution of May 3rd,

and had rallied the nobility to the cause of the rebels.

Then the Russians

surrounded the castle at night.

We were ready

for such emergencies. In this hall

there were twenty guns. As soon as we fired one,

another was handed to us. The priest helped out,

as did the ladies.

Only three of us were shooting, but our fire was continuous.

The Russians showered us with bullets but we aimed better

and shot at them from above. They fled.

By daylight, my Lord Stolnik went out

on the balcony with his gun. Whenever he saw a head, he fired

and never missed.

Suddenly there was a shot.

My Lord coughed, turned pale, tried to speak,

but instead spat blood.

Then I saw the bullet

in his chest.

He staggered and pointed at the gate.

I recognized the bandit Soplica! I knew him

from his stature and his moustache! It was his hand

that slew my master! I saw it!

The scoundrel held his weapon raised,

the barrel still smoking!

I aimed at him, he was petrified.

Twice I fired but both shots missed.

Was it from fury or pain

that I missed?

I heard the women sobbing

and turned round.

My master was dead.

With the blood of his wound

I wet my broadsword,

known as "Penknife."

I have sworn to blunt it on Soplica necks.

I've sought them at assemblies, meetings and markets.

I had a premonition that I'd love these walls.

Once I've recovered the castle,

you will govern it.

Only one Soplica

has survived my vengeance:

the murderer's younger brother

is still alive and brags of his wealth.

His land borders on this castle.

He's a respected man here: he's a judge!

To him you'd yield the castle?

I must break off negotiations with the Soplicas,

even if it comes to pistols or swords!

Honour obliges me!

'Tis a pity Soplica has no wife

or pretty daughter

whose charms I could court!

From such thwarted love

the plot would gain in complexity.

Here, the heart, there, duty!

Here, vengeance, there, love!

Such were the amusements and disputes

in Lithuania,

while the world swam in blood and tears

and Napoleon, surrounded by his regiments,

armed with thousands of cannon adorned with eagles,

flew from Libya's deserts to the Alps,

with thunder on thunder.

Tales of his glory came roaring from the north,

to the Niemen, where the Russians,

defended Lithuania

with a wall of steel against the French.

When Napoleon takes snuff during the fighting

it's a sign he'll win the battle.

For instance at Austerlitz,

regiment after regiment fell,

and for each that fell, the Emperor

took a pinch.

If any of you gentlemen

here today

ever serves in his army,

remember that!

Dear brother, when will that day be?

For long they've said the French would come.

We wait,

we look

until our eyes are weary and still the Russians

throttle us.

We'll all be dead by the time the French come!

My good sir, it's for women to complain

and for Jews to wait patiently

until someone knocks at their door.

With Napoleon, it's easy to beat the Russians.

But the Lithuanian gentry

won't mount their steeds or take up their swords

till no-one's left to fight.

Then Napoleon will only say,

"I don't need you.

Who are you?"

It's not enough to await a guest,

to invite him.

You have to gather your servants, set up the tables,

and before the feast

tidy your house

of rubbish.

Tidy your house, I say.

Tidy your house!