Генрик Сенкевич
Sielanka: An Idyll
On this afternoon the weather was most clear, the sky was cloudless, and above the green canopy of the leaves there spread out the blue dome of the heavens – immense, limitless, transparently gray-tinted on the sides and deep blue above. In the sky stood the great golden sun; the space was flooded with light; the air was bright and serene, and far-off objects stood out distinctly, their forms clearly defined. From the height of heaven the eye of the great Creator embraced the whole earth; in the fields the grain bowed to Him with a golden wave, rustled the heavy heads of the wheat, and the delicate tasseled oats trembled like a cluster of tiny bells. In the air, filled with brightness here and there, floated the spring thread of the spider’s web, blue from the azure of the sky and golden from the sun, as if a veritable thread from the loom of the Mother of God.
In the vales between the fields of the waving grain stood dark-green meadows; here and there were crystal springs, around whose edges the grass was greener still; the whole meadows were sprinkled with yellow buttercups and dandelions which struck the eye with a profusion of golden brightness. In the wet places there thrived cypress trees, which had an air of coldness and moisture.
In the woods among the pine trees there were now both heat and silence. It seemed as if a dreamy stillness enveloped the whole world. Not a breath of wind stirred; the trees, grain, and grass were motionless. The leaves hung on the trees as if rocked to sleep; the birds had ceased their noises, and the moment of rest had come. But this rest seemed to come from an ineffable sweetness, and all nature seemed to meditate. Only the great expanse of heaven seemed to smile, and somewhere, high in the unknowable depths of its blue, the great and beneficent God was glad with the gladness of the fields, the woods, the meadows, and the waters.
Kasya and John were still busy in the woods collecting herbs, laughing gleefully and speaking to each other joyfully. Man is as artless as a bird; he will sing when he can, for this is his nature. John now began to sing a simple and touching song.
As Kasya and John sang in unison the last refrain of the song ended mournfully, and as if in accompaniment the echo repeated it in the dark depths of the woods; the pines gave resonance as the words ran between their trunks and died away in the far distance like a sigh, less distinct, light, ethereal; then silence.
Later Kasya sang a more cheerful song, beginning with the words:
“I shall become a ring of gold now.”
This is a good song. A willful young girl quarrels with her lover and enumerates the means she intends to use to escape from him. But it is useless. When she says that she will be a golden ring and will roll away on the road, he says that he will quickly see and recover her. When she wants to be a golden fish in the water he sings to her of the silken net; when she wants to be a wild fowl on the lake he appears before her as a hunter. At last the poor maiden, seeing she is unable to hide herself from him on the earth, sings:
“I shall become a star in heaven,
Light to earth by will be given.
My love to thee I shall not render,
Nor my sweet will to thee surrender.”
But the undaunted youth answers:
“Then shall I pray to the saint’s grace
That the star may fall from its heavenly place.
Thy love to me thou then wilt render,
And thy sweet will to me surrender.”
The maiden, seeing there is no refuge either in heaven or on earth for her, accepts the view of Providence and sings:
“I see, I see, fate’s decree doth bind me;
Where’er I hide, thou sure wilt find me.
My love to thee I must now render,
And my sweet will to thee surrender.”
John, turning to Kasya, said:
“Do you understand?”
“What, John?”
He began to sing:
“Thy love to me thou must now render,
And thy sweet will to me surrender.”
Kasya was troubled, and laughed loudly to cover her confusion; and wishing to speak, she said:
“I have gathered a large lot of plants; it would be well to dip them in water, for in this heat they will wither.”
Verily the heat was great; the wind had entirely ceased. In the woods, though in the shade, the air vibrated with moist heat, the pines exuding a strong, resinous odor. The delicate, golden-tinted face of Kasya was touched with perspiration, and her blue eyes showed traces of weariness. She removed the kerchief from her head, and began to fan herself. John, taking the basket from her, said:
“Here, Kasya, stand two aspen trees, and between them a spring. Come, let us drink.”
Both went. After a short interval they noticed that the ground of the forest began to slope here. Among the trees, instead of bushes, ferns and dry mosses, there was a green, damp turf, then one aspen tree, then another, and after them whole rows. They entered into this dark, humid retreat, where the rays of the sun, passing through the leaves, took on their color and reflected on the human face a pale green light. John and Kasya descended lower and lower into the shadows and dampness; a chilliness breathed upon them, refreshing after the heat of the woods; and in a moment, between the rows of the aspen trees, they espied in the black turf a deep stream of water winding its way under and through canes and bushy thickets, and interspersed with the large, round leaves of the water-lilies, which we call “nenufars,” and by the peasants are called “white flowers.”
Beautiful was this spot, quiet, secluded, shady, even somewhat sombre and solemn. The transparent stream of water wound its way between the trees. The nenufars, touched by the light movement of the water, swayed gently backward and forward, leaning toward each other as if kissing. Above their broad leaves, lying like shields on the surface of the water, swarmed indigo-colored insects with wide, translucent, sibilant wings, so delicate and fragile that they are justly called water-sprites. Black butterflies, with white-edged, mournful wings, rested on the sharp, slender tops of the tamarack. On the dark turf blossomed blue forget-me-nots. On the edge of the stream grew some alder trees, and under the bushes peeped out heads of the lily-of-the-valley, bluebells and honeysuckles. The white heads of the biedrzenica hung over the waters; the silvery threads of the strojka spread out upon the current of the stream and weaved themselves into thin and long strands; besides – seclusion – a wild spot, forgotten by men, peaceful, peopled only with the world of birds, flowers and insects.
In such places generally dwell nymphs, rusalki, and other bad or good forest sprites. Kasya, who was in advance, stood first on the banks of the stream and looked upon the water in which was reflected her graceful form. She verily appeared as one of those beautiful forest spirits as they are seen sometimes by the woodsmen or lumber men who float on their rafts down the rivers through the woods. She had no covering upon her head, and the wind gently played with her locks and ruffled her ray-like hair. Sunburned she was, blond-haired, and her eyes, as blue as turquoise, were as laughing as her lips. Besides, she was a divinely tall, slender, and fairy-like maiden. No one could swear, if she was suddenly startled, that she would not jump into the water – would not dissolve into mist – into rainbow rays – would not turn quickly into a water-lily or kalina tree, which, when robbed of its flowers, remonstrates with a voice so human, yet recalling the sigh of the forest:
“Don’t touch me.”
Kasya, bending over the water so that her tresses fell on her shoulders, turned toward John and said:
“How shall we drink?”
“As birds,” answered John, pointing to some silver pheasants on the opposite side of the stream.
John, who knew how to help himself better than the birds, plucked a large leaf from a tree, and, making a funnel out of it, filled it with water and gave it to Kasya.
They both drank, then Kasya gathered some forget-me-nots, and John with his knife made a flute from the willow bark, on which, when he had finished, he began to play the air which the shepherds play in the eventide on the meadows. The soft notes floated away with ineffable tenderness in this secluded spot. Shortly he removed the flute and listened intently as if to catch an echo returning from the aspen trees, and it seemed that the clear stream, the dark aspen trees, and the birds hidden in the canes listened to these notes with him.
All became silent, but shortly, as if in answer – as if a challenge – came the first faint note of the nightingale, followed by a stronger trill. The nightingale wanted to sing – it challenged the flute.
Now he began to sing. All nature was listening to this divine singer. The lilies lifted their heads above the water; the forget-me-nots pressed closer together; the canes ceased to rustle; no bird dared to peep except an unwise and absent-minded cuckoo, who with her silent wing alighted near by on a dry bough, lifted her head, widely opened her beak, and foolishly called aloud:
“Cuckoo! cuckoo!”
Afterward it seemed as if she was ashamed of her outbreak, and she quietly subsided.
Vainly Kasya, who stood on the edge of the stream with the forget-me-nots in her hand, turned to the side from whence came the voice of the cuckoo and queried:
“Cuckoo, blue-gray cuckoo, how long shall I live?”
The cuckoo answered not.
“Cuckoo, shall I be rich?”
The cuckoo was silent.
Then John: “Cuckoo, gray cuckoo, how soon will I wed?”
The cuckoo replied not.
“She cares not to answer us,” said John; “let us return to the forest.”
On returning they found the large stone by which they had placed the basket and bunches of herbs. Kasya, seating herself beside it, began to weave garlands, and John helped her. Burek lay near them, stretched his hairy forepaws, lolled out his tongue and breathed heavily from fatigue, looking carefully around to see if he could not spy some living thing to chase and enjoy his own noise. But everything in the woods was quiet. The sun was traveling toward the west, and through the leaves and the needles of the pines shot his rays, becoming more and more red, covering the ground of the woods in places with great golden circles. The air was dry; in the west were spreading great shafts of golden light, which flooded all like an ocean of molten gold and amber. The wondrous beauties of the peaceful, warm spring evening were glowing in the sky. In the woods the daily work was gradually ceasing. The noise of the woodpecker had stopped; black and bronzed ants returned in rows to their hills, which were red in the rays of the setting sun. Some carried in their mouths pine needles and some insects. Among the herbs here and there circled small forest bees, humming joyfully as they completed their last load of the sweet flower-dust. From the fissures in the bark of the trees came gloomy and blind millers; in the streams of the golden light circled swarms of midgets and gnats scarcely visible to the eye; mosquitoes began their mournful song. On the trees the birds were choosing their places for the night; a yellow bird was softly whistling; the crows flapped their wings, crowding all on one tree and quarreling about the best places. But these voices were more and more rare, and became fainter; gradually all ceased, and the silence was interrupted by the evening breeze playing among the trees. The poplar tree tried to lift her bluish-green leaves upward; the king-oak murmured softly; the leaves of the birch tree slightly moved – silence.
Now the sky became more red; in the east the horizon became dark blue, and all the voices of the woods merged into a chorus, solemn, deep and immense. Thus the forest sings its evening song of praise, and says its prayers before it sleeps; tree speaks to tree of the glory of God, and you would say that it spoke with a human voice.
Only very innocent souls understand this great and blessed speech. Only very innocent hearts hear and understand when the first chorus of the parent oaks begins its strain:
“Rejoice, O sister pines, and be glad. The Lord hath given a warm and peaceful day, and now above the earth He makes the starry night. Great is the Lord, and mighty, powerful and good is He, so let there be glory to Him upon the heights, upon the waters, upon the lands, and upon the air.”
And the pines pondered a moment upon the words of the oaks, and then they raised their voices together, saying:
“Now, O Lord, to thy great glory, we, as censers, offer to Thee the incense of our sweet-smelling balsam, strong, resinous and fragrant. ‘Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name.’”
Then the birches said:
“Thy evening brightness illumines the heavens, O Lord! and in Thy splendors our small leaves golden are and burning. Now with our golden leaves we sing to Thee, O Lord, and our delicate twigs play as the strings of the harp, O good Father of ours!”
Again the sorrowing cypress said:
“Upon our sad foreheads, exhausted with the heat, softly falls the evening dew. Praise be to Thee, O Lord; brothers and sisters rejoice, because there falls the cooling dew.”
Amid this chorus of trees the aspen alone trembles and is afraid; for it gave the wood for the Cross of the Saviour of the world; at times it faintly groans:
