A POEM ABOUT THE SIZE, THE FEROCITY, AND THE HUNTING OF THE BISON. TEXT AND TRANSLATION OF NICOLAUS HUSSOVIANUS’S “CARMEN DE STATURA, FERITATE AC VENATIONE BISONTIS” 1523
Edited and translated by FREDERICK J. BOOTH, 2019
Edited and translated by FREDERICK J. BOOTH, 2019
I. (1–50) Introduction: How the Poem Was Commissioned
I happened to be watching the spectacles among the crowd at Rome, recently. When the bulls had been released and were engaging in combat, shaking off the weapons bristling from their bodies, the spears that tormented them only increased the bulls’ anger and they attacked the swift hunters even more fiercely. While I watched, amazed at how much the applause and wounds enflamed the bulls’ raging fury, the subject of the northern woods came up among my companions. When asked, I began to speak openly. I told them tales of the different kinds of hunts and the great strength of the beasts. But my loose tongue did me harm. For it earned me this task, to write down in verse what I had said, and I was ordered to start composing at once. If I may speak the truth, I am not writing about the bison voluntarily.
Human bloodshed has earned the odious and terrible beast its reputation, and under the axis of the North Pole, the animal is well known for slaughter. Often has the beast instilled in me such shameful fears that the hostile common people would spit at my flight. But the common people are a minor concern; now learned men brandish the more dangerous weapons. Therefore, I will be forced either to collapse under the weight of such an important task or to be reprimanded for my ungrateful disposition. I should not, by procrastinating, belittle the advice of one man10 to whom I owe the most. There is no time to appraise a fount that has run dry of genius. I offer only what a sterile field can yield.
Recently I came to Italy, a place I had never seen before, and, following my orders, I composed this work. With your permission coming here as a visitor from far off shores, I ask, surely not unreasonably, that no one expect my writing to be more sublime than is necessary to make it understandable. You know, reader, the kind of pens I use to write these words: I carry a heavy quiver full of arrows that bring forth either the pages that I write or shrill, sudden death. You will write better, I will bend the bow more vigorously: Our different skills are able to make us equals. Do not, however, criticize these foreign verses of an ignorant man. My arrows are so sharp and have been dipped in a poison so deadly that—and this is the amazing thing—even the smallest wound is fatal.
Just as I used to run through glades of the far north, so too, I am now ready to approach the pine forests. In any event—its own wandering threatens the woods11—let the fierce beast roar in my verses, and at the same time, let it reveal, by its resounding roar, the modulations discernible in our poem.
II. (51–120) Description of the Bison and Earlier Writings about It
This most savage of wild animals is born in the Lithuanian forests and usually grows to such a great size that, when the head of a fatally wounded animal sinks to the ground, three men can sit between the two horns. Indeed, its neck, large as it is, does not seem sufficient in proportion to the bison’s other limbs. Its shaggy beard bristles with hanging whiskers. Its frightful eyes are red with rage. A terrifying mane flows down from the neck over the shoulders and covers the knees and forehead and the entire chest.
However, if I may compare great things to small, I should point out what the hunters say. The bison’s entire frame resembles a shaggy goat’s, but its limbs are like those of an ox. Its hide is dark with tawny and black colours mixed in to produce a shade between the two. I am surprised that some of my predecessors have written otherwise on the subject, since I do not see on what they base their statements. They describe some kind of horns protruding from the nose, or bodies different from what they really are, or great monstrous lips. Their animal is not my bison. I have read much ancient lore in Russian books written in Greek letters which the Russians long ago adopted for their own use and which they aptly fit to the sounds of their own language. The books took into account many locations and reported various events in ancient times among diverse people. Nowhere has such an animal been seen unless perhaps it lived during the ages before the Flood under the cold Northern pole.
Pliny clearly recalls that aurochs and bison inhabited the northern woods. According to ancient authors,13 nothing was more savage than the aurochs that were native to the Polish woods. No other location in the entire world can claim that these animals lived in its woods. Next in ferocity is the bison, which Pliny calls “maned.” If anyone wishes to know more, let him read on a little. No doubt many will say that I am making this up, but could anyone who has not felt the fury of the woods in winter believe the size of the bison’s head?
Now, provided I am free to discuss them, I approach things that were shown to me and some others, on which I have spent time never to be recovered, when I avoided leisure as something hateful, leisure which I now seek with all my mental energy and pursue with great effort, and try to bring into my nets by any means possible. I am not preparing hiding places for laziness, but I am hunting for the hours stolen by my studies; but there is no method or invention that can catch time and keep once it has passed. So, let time be lost, for I cannot impose laws on fate, and I may not put off this unforeseen assignment. But what am I to do? There are no ancient books or documents that I can recommend to learned men from which they might learn to recognize the bison’s limbs and to better grasp the dimensions of its huge body. Not one of the books that I read was of any use. I think that the bison might still be unknown outside the woods, except that Paul the Deacon,14 in his history of the Lombards, gives a clear description of the huge animal. He writes that a trusted and upright old man told him that fifteen men could lie upon one pelt. Neither does the sight of the hide nor the huge trophy horns of the beasts, which I have often held in my hands, unduly impress me. Long experience of hunting, hard work, and the hard times of my life will produce some sort of poem, whatever it will be. Although I am no equal to the Roman writers, at least in this art, I enter into the northern woods, a Pole.
III. (121–146) Hussovianus’s Training
My father taught me to walk among the lairs of wild beasts, minimizing the sound by my careful step, and he taught me to read the changing winds there, so the beasts would not smell me or hear me setting the traps. My father forced me to toil amid the icy snow, placing the heavy gear on my shoulders. The sight of the slaughter and sound of the barking dogs delighted me. All the while, bears were dying and boars were being slaughtered, and from all directions the wild asses were rushing into the nets, while tight chains choked other wild beasts. As fiery blasts rose toward the high heavens, bodies were falling to the ground pierced by smooth lead, while others, struck by the horsemen’s arrows or worn out by the chase, lay dying, staining the ground with gurgling blood.
While such things were going on deep in the woods, I was working as hard as my companions were. I relied on my horse to carry me across rivers and the deep channel of the Dnieper, in pursuit of fleeing prey. Not that I did not welcomed facing harsh dangers, but I was ashamed to show myself inferior to my comrades in this. After enduring many hardships on the Lithuanian hunts, I confess that I was not too inexperienced in this art. This work is the summation of that art. Therefore, readers, do not be too harsh in criticizing the dissonant words of a man of the woods. I hope that at least a few men will want to know the bison’s nature and habits, so that I may continue the work I have begun.
IV. (147–236) Habits of the Bison
Although it equals or surpasses all other animals in ferocity, the bison is not dangerous to man unless it has been hurt. It has the greatest instinct imaginable for self-preservation. It casts its eyes around and glances from side to side, seeing everything further ahead. A man may lie hidden and still, but if he so much as blinks his eye, a bison will notice it. To defend itself from the rear, the very cautious bison relies on its ears, which hear the slightest sounds.
However, even if you are seen by the bison, you will walk along in safety, so long as neither your weapons nor your hunting gear gleams in the light. Instead, the animal will stand for a long time with its eyes fixed on you, and captured by the glance of a man, it will delay its progress. If an apprehensive female, leading her tender offspring along with her, is startled by any sound of arms at all, she rages and, making her deep anger known with a horrible sounding roar, she announces her presence, such that no one would want to be nearby. She does not rage against anyone without cause, however, and even if a man has come face to face with her, she allows him to turn his back and walk away safely.
The playful calves frolic and, leaping without restraint, they multiply their mothers’ already excessive fears. From the time they are born, the calves are so docile that they eagerly follow their mother whatever she may be doing. One moment they are leaping over fallen pine trees, and the next they are speeding recklessly over the level ground. They jump across wide ditches in their course and brandish small horns against great threats. They exercise their soft bodies with endless play, seldom allowing themselves to rest.
Contrary to what one might suppose because of the size of its body, the bison is eager for and capable of great exertion. When the beast spins itself around in circles in a confined space, it whirls its body around so rapidly that, when it has turned full circle, it catches its own previously discharged dung before it falls and scatters it with its horns. The animals provide beautiful spectacles by their periodic sport, while they wage simulated wars in their own fashion.
Autumn ushers in Venus’s lustful season lasting for a few days, which the bison celebrate in a great and wonderful way, expressing their happiness with a sweet sound. They fill the whirring breezes far and wide with their roaring, and they trample the ground, causing the tall oaks to tremble. Those who know say that the bison’s sound surpasses any kind of horn or lyre, no matter how well played. A single vibrating voice fluctuates with countless sounds, and there is nothing more pleasant to hear than this.
I am not sure at what age the animal dies, nor can I determine its life span. Written and other evidence indicate that one famous leader of a herd had lived for 200 years. Indeed, he carried on his white head a brilliant mane, and it is from the mane that the breed takes its name. To the extent that we can trust the ancient reports, this bison had lost one of its eyes in battle. As happens in the midst of abundance, disputes over contested authority take place among the herd’s dominant males throughout the forests. Even much later, the battles that the famous leader had seen over the years left their scars, but because I am not sure how old the animal was when it was first identified, I cannot calculate its age at the time of its death.
Although public opinion may presume much about these things, I am reluctant to report facts of which I am uncertain. Let others apply themselves to the task of charming their audience’s ears as much as they want; here a gentle breeze strikes the grove with a moderate sound. Let them wander through the meadows and pastures of the ancients; we have been assigned the path along which we must go. Let them run freely and enjoy their liberty; the one for whom I am writing cares for nothing but the truth.
The young stock increases and grows into a great herd, and all contribute to the safety of the encampment. The herd’s only hope for a safe place to rest is the selection of a guardian, surpassing the others in ferocity, who patrols the perimeter of the herd. Whichever animal is preeminent in appearance and strength wins the right to rule. The males often compete for their kingdoms with much blood, and raging battles beset the wretched rulers, who spend no hour unthreatened. Therefore, the fury for the kingdom often heats up with swelling anger, which subsides only when it has been dispelled by the death of one of the males.
After competing in trials of strength, the victor takes his prize, the leadership of the herd. The loser departs in grief, banished for the rest of his life, and the sad female follows the wandering male. Cast out and alone, they fear the hunter’s spear, while the remaining herd has no fear of slaughter. An exiled bull cannot rejoin the herd; but a female is given more ready access and may return with her trembling offspring after her mate has been killed, when unforeseen death breaks their common bond.
V. (237–327) The Abundance of the Forest and the Kingdom
The strict edict of the king protects the mothers, and his care preserves the rural wealth. The nation prefers its woodland riches to gleaming gold, and the king rightly considers the woods his most valuable possession, even though numberless ships come to the nearby shores, which often teem with all sorts of merchandise. Rivers flow down, enriching all the land, and bring to dock swift ships laden with wealth. The land is rich in crops, and, demanding only modest labor, it fills the fruitful fields with abundant harvests. The mighty herds wander through the fields and woods, and swift horses are seen here and there. The people fill foreign ships with crops, and whatever other nations produce, they possess.
And although the nation is by far the richest in material wealth, nevertheless, the people value nothing more than their forest. But the green woods are not pleasing because they afford great advantages to their lords, nor because a great abundance of yellow beeswax and a great abundance of pitch, used for shipbuilding, comes from them, rather it is because from here the trader, after coming money in hand, leaves with pelts suitable for winter clothing. From here tree trunks are shipped down the rivers into the open sea, both those that are suitable for hollow ships and those with which the flatland region builds and supports its homes, since it lacks this raw material.
Trees are capable of luxuriant growth, and in no other place have I ever seen larger ones. Who will call them barren because they lack fruit? They hold much honey, and the bees buzz around them. The surrounding meadows are fragrant with all kinds of flowers, which the countrymen cultivate in clearings between the woods. The highest part of a tree is hollowed out to provide a place for honeycombs, and in this way human effort helps to produce honey.
Countless birds are brought down from the sky, many by arrows and many by guns. The birds which Pliny calls the black grouse lead their crowded flock there among the other birds. Their bodies are heavier than the fat goose and their flesh is very tasty. It is a most beautiful sight to see the birds when they plummet to the ground after being hit, and the hunter who kills one derives a twofold benefit from it: the flesh of the bird, nourishing the body, also brings food for the mind and is itself distributed through both. Whether the fowler prefers to use hidden snares or nets, he will not return emptyhanded, whatever approach he takes.
There is one law for all, that each may kill whatever he wishes. A wealth of resources allows this licence. In fact, a man’s birds and beasts perish if he hunts them too infrequently. I have seen fish diminish in great lakes if the lord ensures that they are not caught. Fruit also often fares poorly in closed gardens, and an overplanted field loses its crops.
VII. (285–327) Trials by Fire and Ordeal
We see so much to admire in our region. Either God desired all things to be available everywhere, or else it is by magical arts that they increase and decrease. Sometimes even thinking of such things is sure to trouble the mind. Beneath the cold northern sky herbs and words have so much power, and dreadful incantations are so potent that Medea seems to me not at all a fable, but clearly almost real, if we contemplate the wonders occurring these days—although Christians wish to forbid such activity, and are accustomed, as soon as evidence appears, to throw into flames any man at all who involves himself even moderately in such acts, or who sees them and does not report them immediately.
If the people’s capricious gossip casts suspicion on anyone, although his deeds lie hidden in darkness, he is apprehended, his hands and feet bound at once, and he is thrown right into the swelling waters.18 If he appears to be sinking, he is revived and proclaimed innocent; if the opposite occurs, he is always believed to be guilty. I have seen men restrained by snares in deep eddies struggling, trying to sink their head under water; and while a roaring throng of thousands was in the habit of looking on, I have come back from there thunderstruck and stupefied. I have seen an advancing wave recoil from the sinner’s head so suddenly that it seemed to me to violate its own nature. Fire is more just, which, as a rule, destroys such monsters and often vanquishes this kind of loathsome evil. The skeptic will note that all these things take place openly in the Lithuanian region,19 and he will learn that I report only things whose existence has been proven. But nevertheless, only rarely do men perversely practise these arts fit only for depraved women. I pass over these things. From what has been said, it seems clear enough there is little claim to belief in the woods. Although everything in the forest is full of delights, still, only a little grace comes from so vast a grove.
VIII (327–400) Benefits of the Hunter’s Life
There is a singular beauty of balance, for the plentiful herds of noble wild beasts are a match for the sort of men who, after returning from war, invigorate their spirits in the hunt by combining their leisure with strenuous exercise. This exercise sharpens their minds and strengthens their tough bodies, which remain firm even when they are oppressed by old age. It adds years to a man’s lifetime, and the results prove the practice.
This exercise also delays the appearance of gray hair until late in life. It sharpens the senses and makes them keen. By vigorously straining our ears towards faint sounds, we greatly strengthen our power of hearing; and when we perceive sights with a sharp and far-reaching line of vision, our eyes receive excellent therapy. The hunter coordinates his senses in one seamless action, diligently confirming what he sees with the help of his hearing. While the animal scrutinizes the enemy that it has just sighted, and searches with marvellous skill for the stratagems which its ample instinct provides against sudden dangers, it obeys neither sense nor reason.
In any case, I rehash things well known to those familiar with the woods, but which the unaccustomed will hardly believe. Passing over these subjects, I leave them for the consideration of those whom continuous labor has allowed to understand such things. Let them provide a better account, so that I do not seem to write more than the constraints of time allow.
When the resounding barking of dogs convulses the air, to what a pitch of excitement their sound goads the spirit! How clamor breaks the tranquil silence as it rises and falls in a thousand modulations! What a fierce sound the voice of the angry bear pierced by the spear makes! How the wounded boar roars! What wounds are inflicted on the raging bison, when its fierce breath resounds from its wild mouth, when senseless rage distorts the bison’s features into a vision of horror, its eyes rolling in their sockets with fiery anger! When the wounded bison’s dreadful roar escapes from its throat, all the nearest woods tremble. The animal turns and leaps menacingly and transforms itself into every shape of terror. What strong emotions human hearts hold, and, when reason enters into them, how strong they grow! Do our minds follow the most sublime things well? Should those things which were hidden elsewhere be revealed? Might this be the time to consider the awful downfall of the fatherland, so that we may find a means of restoring it?
At times the mind is so overcome by peaceful interludes, that it restores the body more than medicine. Whoever pursues the pleasant sport of hunting and exercises his limbs in woodland labor or partakes in healthy sylvan sport to avoid inactivity’s sluggishness, that man, laughing at all of the doctors, will survive to a very advanced old age without the benefit of science or of medicines which stretch the innards to the point of bursting. For those who are nourished by the hunt of the wild animals, nothing is more life-enhancing than the cold North. This is why we derive more pleasure from the woods than from property and why we consider many things in life inferior to our wildlife.
It remains to discuss the skills needed to capture the animals, if the constraints of time do not curtail this work. If, however, the customs of the North are worth knowing, our fatherland follows this method. It is forbidden to bring down these animals with weapons thrown from afar or to snare them in hidden traps. Manly strength has always been highly valued, and their belief in this is almost religious. They say that it is customary for men to withdraw entirely from the woods, when the beasts are not being conquered in close combat. I suppose these things are made up to prevent natural laziness from creeping in, but I also think that such things could be true. But enough of this, I prepare to report only what little I have myself witnessed and what I have tested against my own experience.
IX. (401–476) The Last Bastion of Christianity
Need I agonize over what I should say about the huntress Diana and her companions? This is not the time to admire Apollo’s curved bows and his arrows stained with the blood of slain beasts. In place of Jove, I worship Christ, and my poems address not Juno, but the Mother of Christ. I refuse to mingle the truth with fable. May those who, in their scholarly pursuit of arcane knowledge far from the truth always perpetuate the errors of the ancients in their poetry, allow me to speak with unadorned brevity. Erasmus, the bishop of Plock, disapproves of anything which relegates the supreme God to second place, and to his famous virtues he adds another, namely, that he never reads anything unworthy of a bishop. I compose my words to suit this man’s discrimination, and if there is any piety in them, he is the source. If you are looking for sweets and searching for pleasantries, this shivering little field bears no flowers, but lies all covered with ice and deep snow. This is winter work.
We are forced to spend the summer in constant warfare, and only the winter offers the opportunity for hunting. War’s violence has put an end to this custom, too, since it is now acceptable to prolong wars into the winter. In this detestable state of affairs silence is no option. and the same pain takes away my tears and words.
We wage wars for the safety of all with our own army, to better protect the sacred law of the brothers.20 We are being utterly overwhelmed and overthrown by an enemy, who wants to obliterate the name of Christ entirely.21 He wages wars neither to gain riches and kingdoms nor to walk proudly in the adulation of his subjects. Rather, a deep thirst for human blood leads him to such brutality that he kills those who are not of his religion, hone his weapons on his slaughter, and throw them forth as feasts for dogs and vultures. If he prevails, no end is preferable to death because life is more painful. Such a man, accustomed to settle affairs in such a manner, cannot bear to hear the name of the supreme God.
We are the last barrier, our bodies wear out his weapons, and our bloodshed slows his advance. We fight on the front line to keep him from penetrating further and plunging in his cruel swords more deeply, mowing down and laying low everything in his path. At this point, he stations himself firmly, gnashing his teeth.
The battles that we wage could help us, alas! they would help us, if people joined by the bond of baptism were not destroying our resources elsewhere. Our sweat protects their peace and quiet, yet these same people attack us and wish us dead, and instead of aiding us, they join forces with our enemies whom they support in their activities, prayers, and advice.23 And time running on by its own impetus always drives them on toward this goal, that our destruction will drag them down with us. Then will they wish to calm the madness of the old sickness, when a cure offered too late will provide no help? Anyone who wishes to observe manifest signs and to take note of events can see that this is not far off.
Spare the beasts, accursed famine, and gnaw your own innards, and where the earth is fertile, dye the snow with blood! Supply the raw materials and on anvils forge longer chains to weigh down your necks and the necks of your sons! God has extended his divine hand, and with a threatening gesture attentively marks evil deeds for punishment. Do you think that He has relented because He has not yet hurled his thunderbolts? Death is swift and its approach is most sharp and bitter. A reckoning down to the smallest coin is coming. Then you will see the consequences of this madness. You will learn the price of providing the evil enemy with a reason to lead away many thousands in chains and to oppress them with the kind of slavery from which old age delivers no one. The same grief awaits your children. Will the multitudinous future generations, which should have been held by the law of Christ, be conquered and damned to Hell under your leadership? What good does it do to waste complaints on the woods? Direct your voice to your real subject, Hussovianus, the wild beasts.
X. (477–658) How to Hunt the Bison
From this point on, let us follow the proposed path; this is the method used for capturing the bison in the cold north. First an extensive structure is built from trees which have been cut down: this structure holds the animals enclosed within its interior. The circumference is usually twelve miles or more, if the miles are measured in the Italian fashion. For reinforcement, guards are stationed along the structure’s perimeter to prevent escape from within. Nor is all of the construction always new. Old enclosures are maintained, but they stand open in many places, so that the animals may come and go more freely, and be held with the least labor amid the fertile pasture.
In order to hunt the trapped beasts, we also confine ourselves inside the structure, where fluctuating fear holds the hunter and hunted in equal balance. Once inside the enclosure no one helps even a dear friend. A slave does not stand by his master, and a father pays no attention to the look on his son’s face, nor the son to his father’s. Everyone’s only concern is to take care of himself. Each man can save or lose his own life, and the slightest error is of grave consequence. A harsh decree dictates what must be done, and inflicted punishment compels the men to obey authority. There is only one means of safety and one protection for everyone: a swift horse capable of sudden turns.
Great-hearted kings rush into these dangers with us, for no one would wish to be the subject of a timid king. Just as they are accustomed to repelling the Scythian hordes with swords while their people watch the bloody wars, so on spirited steeds they mingle with the hunters. Brave deeds do not detract from majesty.
I have restrained my pen, but even though I hold it back, it is borne, or should I say, it rushes to write your praises, Sigismund. Father of our country, I ask for your indulgence, since it is difficult to report your virtues in any one area. We see your great deeds at home and your even greater deeds abroad. But the words do not come to me easily. In the woods, you are the greatest, but I would prefer to speak of your battlefields, if only they were able to give me the strength to do so. And, if only the fates would give me a quiet life, I would devote my leisure time to celebrating your deeds.
The man who is content to describe one animal seeks to accomplish this task while he lies hidden in the dense undergrowth. But it is the custom to trap many animals at the same time, and it is usually the greatest effort to be among more of them. We, however, have seen one animal enclosed in the same way as many.
This is how I myself saw one animal enclosed. First the animal was pierced with swift arrows, and the darts hung from the surface of its skin. Enraged by this, the beast eyed all the men, sending terrifying sounds from its trembling snout. Then, spinning around, it suddenly broke into a run and leapt quickly, trying to escape into swift flight: The shouts of the horsemen pursing the fleeing beast echoed from the stars high above. When the bison had reached the point where its route was blocked by the surrounding barricade, it encountered the excited shouts of the crowd. Driven back, it came to a stop, and turned around looking for a place to run.
Another arrow was shot whistling into a wound, burning the beast’s seething anger even more. Then the animal, seeing its body pierced with the flying iron, raged, its fury suddenly unleashed. Now the hunters felt the weight of the savage animal’s eyes glaring fiercely, as it observed the movements of the thicker ranks. The beast first slaughtered the barking dogs, and then, bloodied with their carnage, it charged the men. The young men ran away and turned their horses off the path, their shouts shaking the deep woods. No one can hope to escape the beast if he attempts to run in a straight line: A safe flight depends on an erratic course.
Its first impulse carries the raging animal off so quickly that its heavy, massive body cannot negotiate turns. Even when it runs, surrounded by a crowd of horsemen, the animal is not able to control itself wherever it charges. Going into headlong leaps, and appearing to grow larger, the beast in pursuit snorts thunder through its wide nostrils. The wind sends the bison’s fearsome mane flowing over both of its flanks. The animal’s appearance is terrifying. Huge and dark, it leaps through the enclosure’s hidden crannies, seeking a target for its fearsome anger. The beast puffs itself up with deadly terrors, and from this everyone knows what happens next.
Once, a man, famous for his family’s wealth and reputation, asked permission to use a gun to bring down the body of a bison, and, unfortunately for the man, permission was granted. The poor man stood hiding under a tree, trying to see from which direction the beast would attack. Suddenly the animal appeared, its fury obvious from the loud pounding of the earth and the dogs’ growling. The man looked on as the animal, breathing clouds of smoke into the air and slowed down by the gore of a slaughtered dog, stopped and directed its furious eyes toward the pine tree; the poor man thought that he had been spotted, and although he was far from the animal, he was so terrified, that he dropped dead from fear. His comrades were now amazed to discover that a man, frozen with fear, could drop dead in his tracks. A basilisk kills with its poisonous stare, but why did that man die before he had even been seen? Cowardice is believed to be the property of a timid heart, and this man’s death was ridiculed by the laughter of the youths. If memory serves me well, I record only facts that I have witnessed. This couplet was inscribed on the man’s tomb: What could horns do? The sight of an angry bison killed Laurinus, and here he lies.
I must confess that I have seen nothing more exciting than the sight of the beast running amok, spreading commotion everywhere, but pursuing nothing in particular which it has any chance of mangling. If the bison comes to a halt, it flares its nostrils to test the breezes for the scent of any living thing, trying to find the source of its wound. Whatever the bison encounters, it sends flying, hurling it into the air. It then lifts the fallen flesh with its horns; be it a man or a big horse, and sends both flying high in the air for all to see. The body is torn and dismembered by the repeated blows, and a rain of flesh, a horror of blood, is dispersed into the winds. A man’s body is mingled with the horse’s limbs, as the gore of each drips from the pieces indiscriminately. Whatever animal was in its path goes flying high and comes sprinkling down from above. Even when wishing to flee, the animal, once it is seen, soon dies.
I have seen deer that have been struck by a charging bison in a narrow space go flying through the air, and if I may make a claim proven by countless witnesses, I have seen, though less often, a bison rip apart wild boars and bears and with one blow, separate their innards from their bodies, and send them flying in different directions to land in separate places. Who would believe that scraps of flesh are thrown so far and wide that carrion birds snatch them for their meals in mid-air, and that crows pick the mangled bodies from the trees? Would anyone believe the sight of a horseman hanging from the high branches, while his horse, which had already been thrown, is being torn apart below? Sometimes when the beast has tossed both the horse and rider, the man has saved himself by hanging onto a tall tree.
I cannot use analogies to prove my subject matter, nor does it help to waste words that no one would believe. A man can discern neither the animal charging him, nor the direction in which it is heading, because the bison uproots everything around it more turbulently than the stormy sea. How violently the beast roars and leaps, ecstatic in its motion, joy permeating its limbs! How often it thinks that it has avenged itself, when its murderous horns gore the remains of a recent victim! My words cannot do justice to my subject. The bison moves so swiftly that it seems not to be an animal at all, but a cloud of dust or snow.
The air disturbed with flying pieces of flesh marks out the scene of death. Reddened snow bears witness to the slaughter as do the limbs hanging from the curved branches, where they remain after the rest of the body has fallen to the ground. Seeking nourishment, all kinds of carrion birds and other carnivores, follow their nourisher, the bison, wherever it runs. The bison tosses and throws about the wounded body for a long while, but even such a painful death is unable to satisfy it, unless it leaves the limbs crushed, the body broken, and whatever bones remain stomped into dust. Forgoing battle formation, many horsemen rush in, risking danger to agitate and frighten the bison with threatening shouts. Even men who are physically fit for such stress are often lost to death, which takes even the strong.
On level ground, it is easy for the fierce animal, by employing trickery, to run in any direction, but it is different in the woods, where accidents often happen. A rotten tree which lies on the ground trips a horse. Many horsemen do not notice the burrows of moles or the slippery ice covered by the winter snow, or they fail to avoid fallen tree-limbs. Death comes unexpected and travels countless roads. If a horseman has fallen, a bison charges him or the horse immediately, tossing the dead body high into the air. Often the strongest man avoids one charging animal’s horns only to be killed by an animal rushing in from another direction.
If I wanted to say everything which is most notable, there would be no end of my words, and I do not know how long my treatise would be.
XI. (659–824) King Witold’s Character
At times people might consider so dangerous a hunt to be foolish, but the gravity of the hunt’s originator, whose name is still most praiseworthy, puts this dubious charge to rest. With such innovations, the high minded and tough Witold25 stabilized the weakened forces of his nation. When he was king of Lithuania, Witold introduced this regimen to prepare the young men for war. He compelled them to endure hardships even in the peaceful times at home, so the enemy would not be able to take them by surprise. This lover of peace was also a most ardent torch of war and was always ready to draw his sword!
Fearing him, the Tartars offered broken bows, and were dismissed with their heads hanging. They who, abounding in riches, had recently been amassing the prizes of victory, were now themselves the prize, baser because of their easy defeat, nor did they receive any other kings except those whom Witold granted to them. Even the Muscovites, although they were richest of all in resources, called this man “master” in a servile voice. The powerful Turks sent extravagant gifts and were almost ready to take orders from Witold. These three, who spread terror throughout the entire world, kept quiet with a certain humbling fear. This vital courage did not grow in the woods, however; it was increased in all places in every way.
As long as Witold reigned, the battlefields seethed with endless armies, for he held up the appearance of war even in times of peace. Hard work strengthened the mighty soldier’s arms so he could throw his spears with expertise. Curved bows groaned with endless bending. Even this was the sign of a sure hand. The horsemen ran in a circle, shooting their arrows at skullcaps that were tossed aloft. Often a leather cap was torn apart high in the air, and received a thousand more holes as it fell. The high-flying crane fell with its wings severed, but its body unmarked by wounds. Birds that nest in treetops did not escape by flapping their wings, nor the water-fowl by swimming. It was a great honor to give a slaughtered bird to the leader, provided that it had been prepared with expert skill.
To live life as one continuous hunt was considered praiseworthy. The martial crowd pursued the trembling beasts, shouting to drive them into clusters of spears concealed in hidden places. The fierce beast leapt, feathered with dense arrows, until it collapsed from a lethal wound.
But the king derived far more pleasure in wearing out swift horses on the course. In contests involving prolonged exertion, men raced to touch a goal that had been set up a hundred stades away. Crowds of horsemen, sweating profusely, competed for the goal, their horses’ flaring nostrils snorting. No one horse could endure so great a strain, so the herd ran behind its accustomed leader. Swift horses vied to support the rider, and they eagerly rejoiced to have their lord mount them. With wonderful art the young men, weighed down with their quivers, leapt from one horse to another. To prevent the lowly from surpassing the nobles, the entire event took place at night, under the cover of darkness. To the winners went great prizes, but the losers could be sure of scorn and dishonor.
Victory entailed a punishing race across deep waters, where the rapids, stiff with ice, swell into wild peaks, and crash against the banks, while the fast-flowing waters peak into whitecaps. It was the usual practice for a man to tie his weapons to a curved rack and to cover them with his clothes. One brave horse bursting through the swelling waves could carry everything and keep it dry. The men quickly mount, and the horses hasten through the water in a line, snorting through their nostrils, the rest of their bodies being submerged. The young men cling to the horses’ necks, clutching the manes with their right hands, and lightly paddling the water with their left hands. Finally, the gifts are distributed: the better ones to the winner, the next to the second, then to the rest according to each one’s standing.
A soldier accustomed to such rigors can cross waters, however rough, without bridges even when he is bearing arms. Nothing is deadlier in cruel wars than a surprise attack that leaves no time for hope or fear. It was Witold’s good fortune to have an army that could go into action with mind-boggling speed. As long as he ruled, courage was weighed by a fair measure. Great prizes went to worthy men, but shame to those undeserving of wealth, for he was a stern and bitter judge of character.
Witold cherished the sacred halls of justice with such an unwavering strength that he allowed no treachery in them. They say that when Witold set a date for a trial, most of the guilty immediately leapt to their deaths or hanged themselves since there was no hope of pardon. Witold subjected false witnesses in particular to every manner of torment, so that no one would dare speak falsely. Those guilty of perjury were brought before him, and these he terrified by glaring at them face to face. Many were wrapped in the hides of wild animals, and thrown to the king’s vicious dogs to be torn apart, a thing the dogs were not unaccustomed to doing. Witold would treat none of those he caught as savagely as he treated a judge corrupted by bribes. They say that his body was dismembered, joint by joint, because he only carried out justice after he had received bribe after bribe. An unfortunate man had disregarded the words of a decree, and his torture served as an example to posterity. Every form of avarice vanished under that famous ruler, and he well deserves everlasting praise.
Indeed, Witold’s illustrious deeds could fill many books, but this work of ours is limited to one subject. Witold strengthened the unwarlike courage of his rural people who cared for nothing besides the plow. To avoid wounds, he even ordered them to lead shackled bison into the camp, and he proposed punishments and rewards for the action. A crowd formed to undertake the task, and, undeterred by fear, carried out the commands, placing the beast at the king’s feet. However, I must confess, I would hardly believe this, if the testimony of the old men who witnessed it did not compel me to believe it. To dispel my doubt, they described the sorts of devices, methods and the equipment employed.
A double wall stands in the shape of a wedge narrowing from a wide-open front into a narrow space. Strong beams of oak are placed in the middle of the structure, which is covered by branches cut from a pine tree. Everything lies hidden by the surrounding branches, so the cautious animals cannot sense the trick in advance. Then a man wearing a red cloak walks in, his sword glistening, as the animal looks on from a distance, enraged. The agitated animal, burning with anger, charges in a swift course, and the man retreats through familiar places and reaches the prepared traps before the bison does. He runs in deeper with the beast in hot pursuit, and, in less time than it takes for a flame to appear, the animal falls headlong into the middle of the trap. The corner had allowed only the man to pass through, and the animal remains caught, unable to turn around backwards. Other men approach from their hiding places and immobilize the animal, binding it with tight ropes that cut into its tough limbs. At the same time, they fetter the feet and tie the foaming mouth with straps. Chains immobilize the entire body. Even armed troops could do nothing to stop the beast if it were to burst out of the chains through its own power, but tightly bound and constricted by ropes, it is dragged full of fear, step by step through the crowd of commoners.
Freedom is, nevertheless, granted to the beast: Set free, it is released on the open field, fearing no chains, and yet only to be shot by the Scythian arrows of the horsemen, so that the soldiers do not lose any of their acquired skill. They have great rewards for the marked arrows, and they say that their belts were made in return for their marksmanship. Whoever has come closest to the bison to stab it with his sword receives greater gifts, and the value of each prize decreases in accordance with the distance from the animal. Nevertheless, during that invincible king’s reign, there were always great gifts for the weapons driven deepest into the massive limbs of the beast.
Surely Witold was the most famous man of his time, but not because of the ennobling martial exploits of his men. He much preferred heavenly to worldly things, and he worshipped God with the deepest devotion. He first accepted the laws of Christ along with his countrymen, and he overthrew the ancient rites of his people, and with great piety established churches to the supreme God, and he gave donations to their ministers with the greatest piety. He removed all the wickedness of the old gods and was himself aware of his own failings.
XII. (825–886) Killing the Bison
Not willingly do I depart from the topic of this famous man and overlook the renowned ruler’s greatest accomplishments, but I am compelled to keep in mind my subject and the short time remaining before the bison must be brought to its end. Perhaps I seem to have digressed unduly from it, but, at any rate, it was necessary to pause for a moment, while the shouting men were wearing out the animal with prolonged pursuit, and the woods resounded with their various voices. At last the bison appears ready for the difficult kill: Rage exhausts every one of the animal’s limbs. The bison drips with sweat, and beats its shanks with a constant pulsing. A thick foam falls from its entire body. It trips over its own clumsy feet as if drunk. Look! It is about to die at any moment!
When the animal appears to have spent its rage, the horsemen dismount and their horses are led away. As is the custom, young men armed only with swords approach to strike the final blow at close range. With remarkable courage, each man stands next to a tree he has chosen, and risks a cruel death, all for the love of praise. Flashing his sword and shouting shrilly, each tries to provoke the savage beast to attack him. Faster than the wind the animal charges into the enemy that it has sighted, but the man leaps away, hiding behind the tree. Taking broad steps, the beast charges the tree, leaving such deep gashes that you would think it had been hit by a fiery lightning bolt. Branches, shaken loose by the impact, fall from the tree in pieces heavy enough to kill a man. An alert mind is crucial; this is no place for daydreaming.
I once saw a brave and vigilant man in a similar situation throw away his sword and become frozen with fear. Had luck not brought aid to this poor soul, he would have slipped into the chains of sudden death. Indeed, his tree was a huge sturdy pine whose ample branches were covered with white snow. As soon as the bison’s forehead struck the tree with a loud crash, the snow-covered branches shook, and the falling snow formed a cloud in the air, covering the bottom of the tree and concealing the man, who suddenly regained the strength of his body and his mind, and beat a swift retreat under cover of the snow. His comrades let out great guffaws at the sight of this, on the grounds that to yield to death would be a foul disgrace, and that contests should have participants of equal strengths and always end with the death of one of them.
No matter how heavy the blows it receives, the trunk holds the bison’s horns fixed as in an embrace. It is best to choose a tree growing in fertile ground, to ensure that the roots can hold it standing in place. Anyone who puts his trusts in a tree growing in dry sandy soil is making the wrong choice. When the tree falls, he will also fall. Even a tree which the fierce power of the storm winds could not uproot, may topple when it has been struck by the horns of a bison. It is a wonderful sight to see the animal struggling to overturn a tree, roaring horribly as it spins in a circle. Fury deprives the animal of sight and sense, and it thinks that it is smashing the man with its forehead. Then you can discern neither the leaping man nor the beast; dust and shadows from the trampled ground obscure both. Nevertheless, the beasts’ fury may be diverted, even in the middle of their rage they observe much.
XIII. (887–928) The Royal Stand
Once, during one of King Alexander’s hunts, a harrowing event occurred which is still famous, and which would have involved the entire kingdom in mourning, if God had not brought help in a precarious situation. A stand, designed to afford the spectators a panorama of the slaughter, had been erected on four tall columns. Here the queen sat with her entourage of nobles, ladies, and maids-in-waiting, and in their view stood young men reveling in the hope that the larger and more prominent of the animals would pursue them. Here they sought chances for courage and the approval of their strength and skill. From a treetop, Cupid shot his arrows. Please attend to your usual easy sport without bloodshed. What have you got to do with the woods, pernicious boy? Look how the young man whom you compel to compete to please a girl will die a sudden and foolish death!
While the beasts raced around charging their attackers, and while everyone was paying the greatest attention, the sky was afire with a glow emanating from the assembled maidens. Their splendid gowns interwoven with gold glistened, and red silk in its various patterns blazed forth.
Soon this strange vision met the animals’ blazing fury. The beasts were stunned and stood paralyzed for a moment. Let me not suggest that the race of women, which customarily can deceive human senses, has the same power over wild animals. But then, with a great roaring, other beasts came as if under compulsion, and charged as one against the hunters.
One bison, obviously suffering, its body punctured by wounds but clearly not bereft of its senses, stopped, and shaking its head marvelled at the colours and seemed to study the faces of the people. Indignant that a spectacle was being made of its slaughter, the animal wanted to ennoble its impending death. The bison roared, its swollen nostrils flaring (this was a sign for the herd following behind).27 Charging, it knocked down one of the supporting columns with its forehead. With almost half of the supports destroyed, the stand threatened to fall. If the falling structure had been destined to collapse, the mind, gripped with great fear, could not imagine how much blood would have soaked the ground and how much gore would have stained the animals’ horns blood-red.
XIII. (929–985) Death of the Bison
Furthermore, the beast must be thoroughly subdued by exhaustion before it resists its impulses and rages less violently. Its tongue hangs out between its jaws for a while before its huge mouth can swallow back the foam. Its tail can be heard lashing the swift breezes, as its fuming nostrils spew thick vapor. The freezing cold would already have paralyzed the animal’s unbridled fury, if the sweat were not pouring violently from its body. Before the bison’s heavy breath can pour over its sides and sweating limbs before the sweat can evaporate into mist all around, the bison, agitated, charges randomly, its eyebrows twitching. Tufts of hair, shaken loose by the beast’s panting, waft through the air. The animal pulls out tufts of its hair with its teeth. Since there are no other bodies to attack it savages itself, cruelly beating its belly with its hooves. Blasts of air rustle the dry leaves, as the bison bursts into the foliage with a headlong leap, trampling the shimmering shadows cast by the flight of the terrified birds.
The animal will give you a thousand signs to recognize the right moment to approach it. If, however, there is any sense left in it, you will be immediately defeated and you will be quickly killed, crushed into little pieces. I seem to prolong my treatise with needless words. Do not be bored, for the end is near.
The hunter presses himself against the tree, which the bison holds between its horns. The man always keeps the tree pressed close to himself, for if he were to be separated the least bit from it, he would be unprotected, and the beast would attack him immediately. The two revolve, leaping in a rapid race on the same circular path, the man on one side of the tree, the animal on the other. The man directs his sword to pierce the fearful beast’s body, and the animal attacks the man with its tongue, which it uses like a sword. If the extended tongue should catch the man’s clothing, all would be over, for any man caught in such a way by his clothing dies immediately.
But, to make it more difficult to avoid the dangers of its tongue, the beast poises and guides all its feet for the slaughter. No arrow can travel through its body more quickly than the animal’s limbs, dispersed by a wound in the foot, rush forward.
The skillful hunter sees everything in the rapid movements of its body—what he should do, what he thinks he ought to avoid—lest the beast burn the poor man with its rabid exhalations, as if it were heat and he were standing too close to a real fire. If the man does not immediately pierce the animal’s heart with his sword, he is overcome by blasts of the bison’s breath and falls to the ground. His companions take measures to cut the struggle short, and another man’s voice then draws the animal away. But the experienced young men easily pierce the animal’s breast with their swords, driving them in to end the animal’s anguish.
The horns are blown, and the men laugh at their unskilled companions, but now the beast lies dead broken by the great exertion. The fiercest inhabitant of the northern woods falls, but yet another awaits me in my patience. If I have the leisure, he will be sought, too. If you are wise, burn: Prepare to face battle.
XIV. (985–1072) Disunity in Europe and a Prayer to the Virgin Mary
Why should I not be distressed when horrible wars terrify the mind and cruel Mars rages throughout the whole world? The true religion of Christ totters in turmoil, feeble in the battlefield and not very stable at home. Cleaving itself with its own swords, it falls in shame to be plundered and mocked by the enemy. Too long have we needed Heaven’s help, but our crimes forbid us to hope for it.
Meanwhile, what are our kings doing? Do they seem to be sleeping? Alas, never have they been less concerned with peace or more anxious. Why is this? One wants the other’s head, and they lead their deadly armies in the slaughter of their own people. To their minds this is pleasure. On both sides, equal numbers of soldiers fall. The kings want no one left alive for them to rule, and they play their great criminal game with our blood. Now our common enemy laughs, while those, who should be our guardians, instead butcher and dismember the flock entrusted to them. What a searing hatred drives them! What awful fury resides in their iron hearts; no one sees how great a crisis is threatening all or the insecure footing of the pitiable state.
Who in the world is free from our slaughter? What sword does not flow with our blood? But we are even more savage to ourselves. For the Turks only slaughter the miserable people, plundering citadels, towns, churches, and houses, occupying harbors, fortifying locations, filling them with soldiers, so that they may destroy whatever they choose. Whether they are bloody from the easy slaughter of the aged or of infants, they commit their atrocities without risk to themselves. When they disembowel pregnant mothers, they rejoice to see others weep and they fear no armed opposition. What a blind and deplorable crowd we are! Kings, perceiving rival powers everywhere, plunder and destroy without restraint. They do this for one reason: so that someday there will be no one left to keep Christ’s law.
While she observes the divine powers of the shining sky, she has scarcely any reason to trust in her own resources. Virgin, Mother of God, I try to write your name, but my trembling hands shake, and I am dumbfounded. I am unable to comprehend with my mind, whether I should be silent or I should speak with you. If I am silent, then you are worthy of my silence, you whom the whole world invokes and whom all creation hymns in unison. If I speak, then it is not for human tongue or human mind to find the words, which may be able to suit you. But, nevertheless, persuaded by your goodness, by which you conquer everything which is inferior to God in his infinite greatness, I come forth, and seeking your favor and trembling in my heart, I throw myself down at your feet, Virgin Mary.
My clothes are filthy and squalid, and my soul is worse yet. I am pale, and with bloodless lips I utter my prayers, not because I am worthy to address even one word to you, but because only you can uplift us. In compassion for human suffering, God has set you on a high mountain to be an image of light and a source of help. Just as a bird cares for its fledglings, you, Holy Virgin, cherish the race of mortals, and just as a mother comes to lift up an infant, you lift up and receive those whom you see have fallen. Now, Virgin Majesty, decked with flowers, please intercede on behalf of my prayers.
Look at the madness of wars and the battlefields flowing with blood! How much more will the fates allow the slaughter of people, who are joined by the strength of your son’s covenant and ought to live in mutual peace? Return our kings to sanity, I pray, so they may see that they have betrayed their oaths of office. Why do they betray their trust and relax the reins of the world? They are guardians in name only, but wolves in fact.
Meanwhile, until the kings are able to come back to their senses, may you restrain the cruel enemy and delay them a little, so they do not ravish the wretched people and lead the helpless into chains.
Prepare the path for Adrian VI.29 Let no advice convince him to linger, but let him come, outstripping the swift winds from the sea, and let him take the swords raised high by fury. Let him reveal to the stupid where the enemy has settled and whom they may kill legally, so that he, who has received his title not by bribery, but legally, may legitimately direct his peoples’ arms and strive to establish the kind of pontificate that our monstrous age demands.