-- And how about your country? Does it have animal-symbols, too?

        -- Of course, it has. There are two: a stork** and a zubr.

        -- A zubr? What is -- a zubr?

        -- It is an animal that looks like your bison, but a little bigger. It has been saved only in my country. But a long time ago, our Kniazes*** arranged their entertainments: zubr-hunt, like a Spanish corrida, but not in a ring: they were directly in the forest. Daredevils met with a furious wild animal in single combat.

        -- Wow! It's so interesting! Tell us about the zubr and about the old customs of your country. But not yet. Let it be your homework. Bring your writing project to the next lesson. And make your presentation.

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*Volat (Belarusan) -- giant; strong valiant man.

**We name our country --"the land under white wings". Our people believe storks "bring" our children to us. That comes from mythology.

***Kniaz – the highest noble rank.

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         ...Ah! My God! The cat has my tongue! Have the trouble now! -- I don't like homework at all; I can't write beautifully, and my English is so terrible!

         ...To tell about my country and about a zubr-hunt there? To foreign people... in a foreign language... so far from the motherland... Such odds! So, only Mikola Husoŭski would be able to do it!

         Bless me! So I remembered! Such pretext! It feels me so amazing: the same feelings of my great countryman were evoked by almost the same circumstances! But so many centuries ago: almost 500 years. But that chance was lucky. As a result of that strange event, we have a brilliant piece of art, a work of a high poetry; a monument of beautiful writing that belongs to the treasury of world literature. And its author is recognized as "the most talented and the most educated East-Slavic person in Europe at that time".

         But my daring attempts to compare my dismal school endeavors with the creation of the Master have ever failed. Therefore, I should console myself with a memory about that peculiar story that was happened with my countryman, enjoying again and again reading the beautiful, witty lines of his "The Song of the Zubr".

But it is so interesting: how did it happen?

         ...1521. The Vatican. Pope Leo X arranges an entertainment for his guests -- the ambassador from the distant northern country (which the Pope's dynasty began to call "Alba Rosia" at that time) Bishop Erasm Vitely with his retinue. Ah, how he wanted to impress the foreigners with the new show: it was a still new Italian corrida! …But suddenly, somebody in the retinue exclaimed: "Wow! It looks like our zubr-cordon!" That evoked a number of curious questions of the Pope. And here was Mikola from Husaŭ in the retinue. He was a son of a forest warden and a great hunter himself. So he began to tell about his hunting adventures. The amazed Pope asked the Bishop to present him a stuffed zubr made from this odd animal and to write a poem in verse about it (as was the fashion at that time).

        The bishop immediately sent messengers to Kniazes Radzivils for a stuffed animal; and Mikola was ordered to write down his whole story on a piece of paper and to compose a truly poetic work about a zubr, the country and the hunts.

        This curious thing evokes always my smiles. It's so pleasant to recognize through the centuries the native roguish humor of my countryman (an "albaros"), who described this event and his feelings himself:

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How the wise proverb says: my tongue is my foe.

After hearing me with intriguing interest,

They ordered me to start immediately working,

So as to rearrange my memoirs into poetic rhymes

And to make a song about our cordons and us.

You see: I'm just a provisionally chosen among poets...

And I have to master a strange weapon now:

The same hand, which has the knack of signing with bows,

Has to display its skills in beautiful writing.

I’m taking an unaccustomed feather -- confess --

Being terrified, ungifted, with my soul in pain,

I’ll fall prone under the load of this weightlessness...

...How are we going to come to agreement, light feathers?

I must say: since my childhood, I’ve been familiar with your voices

Just in the ringing of arrows, where you’re plumage...

...You would better do such writing by yourself, my reader!

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        In such a way, in 1522, "The Song of the Zubr" appeared in the world. And as a matter of fact, it was the song about our home country, the great hymn of our motherland, its nature and of the courageous and beautiful soul of our people.

        Written in Latin, an international language at that time, the poem had to tell European people about our country, our people, their customs and their world outlook. And for us, descendants, to become a chronicle of the life at that time. But after the untimely death of the main customer, Pop Leo X, the book was published only once in 1523, in Krakow.

        Like many others, this pearl of the national treasury was destined to continue that fatal tradition, that the best works of Belarusan masters are somewhere outside Belarus, and they are unknown to their country people at all. Just 4 centuries later, "The Song" came back to its motherland; however, it interests only a close circle of academics now, as well.

        This annoying habit touched me, as well...

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        …A long time ago (still during the Soviet times), a young graduate of the philological University (who had heard something about Husoŭski and his zubr at one of her lectures -- no more) was sitting, perplexed, directly on the floor near a bookshelf for whole day, surprised and amazed, turning the pages of her unexpected discovery. It was "neither far nor close" in Tver-city (Kalinin, at that time), where I was visiting my friend. Neither she nor her family had any regards neither for Belarusan things nor for literature or history at all. One day, the hosts left me alone "to be bored", and I rummaged in their bookshelf...

        Charmed by the colored accurate pictures of cordons and pursuits (the truthfulness of which was sword by its author), I forgot about everything, traveling round the pages of this "novel of adventure", which pages were breathing with the odours of native dense forests, roaring, the rattling of sabres, and filled with the voices of hunters... But I hadn't known before, that our symbol -- placid, calm, drowsy ox -- was such formidably strong animal at that time, being so majestic with its noble ferocity in the fight for its right to live!

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Being more dangerous with its ferocity,

Than a ferocious beast of prey,

A zubr is not a danger for people:

Leave it alone -- it won't touch you...

...A zubr -- so we’ve believed since the earliest times –

May be an animal, but it is a warrior,

It recognizes a victory, obtained honestly.

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        Soon a shame and an annoyance added to my admiration: it appeared, that I didn't know my country at all. No, not the Soviet Union, but that state, where my roots are from. And but not that country, which is "as though cursed by God" *, that is seems like -- "if you see it, so you weep blood, but not tears..."*

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*The words from a well-known poem of the Belarusan poet F.Bogushevich: "My native land! As though cursed by God..." (middle of XIX c.)

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        No, it was a totally different country! Suddenly, I found myself traveling round a wonderful, until now unknown magic "terra incognita", with an unknown name(!), unknown rulers, customs and nature:

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                                     So let's go to the North, into the bowels of forests!

                                     As a tracker, I will lead you, because I'm used to.

                                       We are going to meet the formidable mighty animal there.

                                      Let him roar; and this roar will break through my lines

                                      Like an echo -- the song will attain a harmony.

                                     Let him butt my line, so that we can look at

                                        This wonder in the expanse of The Litvian Duchy*.

                                      Its mighty body is so huge, that if it’s mortally wounded

                                 And wounded kneels down,

                                    So three hunters sit down between its horns...

                                            ...Our land is a wonderful haven of mysteries and miracles...

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*The Grand Litvian Duchy or The Grand Principality of Litva – the ancient name of Belarus.

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        That was a country of the mighty volats -- of nature and men, which were equal in strength in the struggle for life. The country, where stalwart fellows regarded a ferocious competition with furious wild animals as entertainment: "Here rest combines with action apt and dispels stress from the soul. Hunting is the best medicine for a weary body and soul".

        That was a volat-state that was governed by wise, fair rulers, that was defended by courageous, strong warriors, which steeled their valour in competitions and hunts.

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This invention takes its roots from the reign of Vitaŭt*

At the height of power of The Grand Litvian Duchy...

...He trained his hosts for future battles in such a way...

He was fair in everything himself and measured off for everyone

With the same measure...

He stood his sword as a border post

In front of enemy invasions from the south and east.

Even Tatarian, handing his head,

Recoiled him his own broken bow and explained,

That he had been searching for booty near the Litvian land,

But he became himself the quarry of the Litvians.

Vitaŭt was kind to their rulers, who were appointed

To reign by his own choice; and even

He can shout at The formidable Horde:

Know your limits, Tatarian!

How the Moskovian land is famous due to its wealth and strength,

But they asked for reconcilement with the Litvian.

Turk always sent bales with gifts to Vitaŭt,

Hiding his secret trouble:

How to get round and to toady; how not to get anger

Of the Litvian state upon his head.

Three kites, which horrified half of the world,

Couldn't even give a squeak like the specks in front of him.**

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*The Royal Kniaz Vitaŭt (1350-1430) -- the Ruler of The Grand Ptincipality of Litva in 1382-1430 -- or "The Royal Litvian Kniaz, Pan and Dziedzich Ruski", or "The Royal Kniaz of Litva and of Rus".

**Three kites -- The Golden Horde, The Ottoman Empire and The Moskovian Duchy.

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        That was a wealthy free country, where "everybody is equal in front of the law and a right to hunt, so obtain as much, as you can". Where a peasant or a forest warden's son had an opportunity to study at any University in Europe or to take a position in any government service.

        That was a country of educated artists and poets, where spirituality was considered the highest value. Where hunters become diplomats, and diplomats in a chance -- poets.

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All chroniclers regard the reign of Vitaŭt

As a blossoming of The Grand Litvian Duchy, our land,

And they name that age as a golden one. Let's examine:

It seems to me so, that age was named this respected name

For the simple reason: the Kniaz always --

Before earthly blessings and wealth --

Put wealth of spirituality as the treasure of the State.

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        Namely such a country was able to stop the mighty invasions of The Golden Horde from the east and of the Crusaders from the west at the same time.

        And that was -- my country, our country.

        It -- was.

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Memoirs of uncountable adventures and events

Came surging into my mind, filling my soul -- and it seems:

You return again to that land, where is a source of beginnings,

The meaning of life and the sanctified feeling – your motherland.

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        ...But maybe, it was just an appearance in my evening visions beside that bookshelf: I saw silhouettes of strong people wearing shupans with wide girdles; their faces were light and severe, but so familiar to an aching heart like the faces of relatives. And they gazed silently, inquiring-reproachful... Only one rider, controlling a horse, hurled me through a rattle of spurs and harness: "The blood of your ancestors turns sour in your body! You're not destined to be as strong as they..."

        All right... Nobody will force us to speak our language. But while we will be speaking foreign languages -- we will be treated as "neglected, deaf, blind people" *. While we will be regarding the history of foreign countries -- The Kievan Rus or the dynasty of The Moskovian Tsars -- as our history, until we will not remember the history of our state and will not be proud of it -- we will remain slaves for the whole world, and we will never have the slightest chance "to be named human beings".*

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*The words from a famouse poem of the great Belarusan poet Yanka Kupala: "Who is there going?" (beginning of XX c.)

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The Belarusan translation of “The Song…” from Latin

by Yazep Semishon is used here

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Toronto,

2002