186 SZLACHTA
for the local community was strong, and for the national community weak. In con-
ditions of deepening economic regression, the nobleman was inclined to stay at
home, to manage his farm, and to count his blessings. Cut off from the outside
world, he was deeply convinced that the rest of mankind lived in squalor. Despite
their many and obvious faults, the szlachta undoubtedly succeeded in creating a
powerful sense of local solidarity, which in the record of literature clearly tri-
umphs over meaner considerations. The natural life was one of the favourite
themes of Poland's first great vernacular poet, himself the squire of Czarnolas:
What could be more simple, or more sincere, than his ode To a Linden Tree'?:
Dear Guest, sit down beneath my leaves and take your rest.
The sun will not strike you there, I do insist,
Though it beat from its noonday height, and its direct rays
Should pierce such scattered shade as a tree bestows.
There, a cooling breeze is always blowing from the field;
There, nightingales and blackbirds their tuneful tales unfold.
It's from my fragrant blossom that the tireless bees
Take the honey, which later ennobles your lordly feasts;
Whilst I, by my soft murmurs, can easily contrive
That gentle sleep should overtake the unsuspecting fugitive.
It's true, I bear no fruit; but in my master's eyes
My worth exceeds the richest scion of the Hesperides.
Or his elegy, to 'The Merry Village'?:
Sweet village! peace and joy's retreat!
O who shall tune thy praise to song?
O who shall make a music, meet
Thy smiles, thy pleasures to prolong?
Bliss dwells within thy solitude,
Which selfish avarice never stains,
Where thought and habit make us good
And sweet contentment gilds our gains.^30Two hundred years later, Bishop Naruszewicz was expressing the same senti-
ments exactly:
I do not care for pomp and ostentation.
A well-stocked farm is my ambition.
When doing business with a peasant
I have the greatest entertainment.
Better friends I could not know,
Than my team of oxen yoked to the plough.
All titles
Are empty vessels.
O virtuous countryside! May your name
Be blessed with burgeoning fame.
I am yours. You are mine,
My treasure, my anodyne.^31