In order due their Envoy Bartek now
Commenced his speech. He, as he often went
On rafts unto the kingdom, had been named
The Prussian by his fellow-countrymen;
In jest, for greatly did he hate the Prussians,
Although he loved to talk of them. A man
Advanced in years, in his far journeys he
Had seen much of the world, a constant reader
Of the gazettes, well-versed in politics;
In Matthew’s absence he was usually
The president of council.
“This is not—
Sir Matthias, my brother, and good father
Of all of us—this is no empty promise;
I’d count upon the French in time of war
As on four aces. ’Tis a warlike people,
And since the days of Thaddeus Kosciuszko,
The world has ne’er seen such a martial genius
As the great emperor Bonaparte. I well
Remember when the Frenchmen crossed the Warta.
That time beyond the frontier I was staying,
During the year of eighteen hundred six.
I was with Dantzig trading, but I have
In Posen many relatives; I went
To visit them; and therefore with Pan Joseph
Grabowski, now commanding officer,
But who at that time in a village lived
Near Objezierz, I hunted some small game.
Peace then was in Great Poland, as is now
In Lithuania, but a sudden rumour
Spread all at once of a terrific battle.
An envoy sent by Todwen came to us.
Grabowski read the letter through, and cried
Out, ‘Jena, Jena! The Prussians have been beaten
Upon the head, the neck! A victory!’
I, lighting from my horse, fell on my knees,
To thank the Lord. We rode into the town,
As though on business, as we knew of nought.
And there we saw the Landrath, Hofraths, all,
Commissioners, and all such sons of dogs.
They all bow low to us, each trembling, pale,
Like Prussian insects deluged with hot water.
Rubbing our hands, and laughing, we entreat
Humbly for news; we ask, ‘What news of Jena?’
They marvelled that already we should know
Of their defeat; the Germans cry: ‘Ach Gott!
O weh!’ They went back home, and from their houses
They ran as fast as feet could carry them.
Oh! what a scramble! all the roads were full
Of fugitives. The German folk like ants
Crawled fast away, the carriages ran on,
Which there the folk call Wagen and Fornalken,
Men, women, carrying pipes and coffee-pots,
And dragging pillows, feather beds; they hurried
As best they might. But we in silence went
To council; hey! on horseback, to confound
Retreating of the Germans! Now to smite
The Landraths on the necks, and flog the Hofraths,
And catch the Herren Offiziere by
Their pigtails! But our General Dombrowski
Did enter Posen, and he brought the Emperor’s
Command to insurrection! In one week
Our men so soundly had the Prussians thrashed,
And driven them away, thou couldst not get
A German, ev’n for medicine. Suppose
We also should thus nimbly turn about,
And with such speed, and here in Litva make
Just such another bath for Muscovy.
Ha! what dost thou think, Matthew? If the Russians
Contend with Bonaparte, it were no jest
To fight with him. He is the greatest warrior
In all the world, and he has countless armies.
Ha! what does Matthew think, our Father Rabbit?”
He ended. All await old Matthew’s sentence.
Matthew nor moved his head, nor raised his eye,
But only many times he struck his hand
Upon his side, as though he sought his sabre.
Though since the land’s partition he had worn
No sabre, yet from ancient habit, when
He heard the mention of the Muscovites,
He moved his hand towards his left side aye,
As though to wield his Rod, and thence was he
Called Zabok. Now he lifted up his head,
They listen in deep silence. But Matthias
Deceived the general expectation, for
A cloud hung o’er his brow, and once again
His head sank down upon his breast. At length
He spoke, pronouncing slowly every word
With emphasis, and nodded to ’t in time.
“Silence!” he said; “whence cometh all this news?
How far off are the French? Who is their leader?
Have they begun already war with Russia?
Where, and for what? And whence are they to march?
What is their strength? What foot, and what of horse?
Who knoweth, let him speak!”
Then silent all
The assembly, gazing each on each. “I gladly,”
The Prussian said, “would wait the Bernardine,
For the news comes from him. Meantime we must
Send to the frontier trusty spies, and arm
The district all in secret; and meanwhile
Conduct the whole thing prudently, so as
Not to betray our plans unto the Russians.”
“Ha! wait? and bark? put off?” a second Matthew
Broke in, the Baptist christened, from a great
Club, which he called the Sprinkler. ’Twas with him
To-day; he on its body leaned both hands,
And on the handle did support his chin,
Exclaiming, “Wait! delay! hold sejmiks! Hem!
Trem! brem! and then to fly! I have not been
In Prussia; kingdom reason’s good for Prussia;
But for me noble’s reason. This I know,
That whoso wants to fight, has but to grasp
A Sprinkler; who will die, call in the priest,
And thus be quits! I want to live, to be!
What is the Bernardine? Are we then schoolboys?
What’s Robak unto me? Let us be worms,
And on to gnaw at Muscovy! Trem! brem!
Spies, scouts! Do you know, you there, what this means?
It means you’re old men, and incapable!
Brothers! ’tis weasel’s work to ferret out,
A Bernardine’s to beg, but mine, to sprinkle!
To sprinkle, and be quits!” And here he stroked
His club, and after him the crowd of nobles
Shouted full loudly, “Sprinkle, sprinkle, sprinkle!”
The Baptist’s side supported was by Bartek,
Surnamed the Razor, from his thin-edged sword,
Likewise by Matthew, who was named the Bucket,
From a great rifle which he bore, with throat
So wide that he from it, as from a pail,
Could pour a torrent of a dozen bullets.
Both shouted, “Long live Baptist with the Sprinkler!”
The Prussian tried to speak; his words were drowned
By tumult and by laughter; they exclaimed,
“Away! thou Prussian! coward! he who is
A coward, let him hide himself beneath
A hood of Bernardine.”
Old Matthew then
Slowly upraised his head, and then the noise
Began to cease a little. “Mock not,” said he;
“At Robak, ’tis a tough blade of a priest.
That tiny worm has gnawed a bigger nut
Than you. I saw him only once, he scarce
Had cast a glance, I knew at once the game.
The priest did turn away his eyes, as fearing
That I should deign confess him. But all that
Is no affair of mine; there’s much in this
To talk about. He never will come here.
’Tis vain to call the Bernardine to us.
If all this news proceed from him, who knows
With what intent? A devil of a priest
It is! If nought you know beside such news,
Why come you here, and what more do you wish?”
“War!” cried they.—“What war?” asked he. They replied,
“War with the Muscovites! To fight ’em! Hey!
Down with the Muscovites!” The Prussian shouted
Unceasingly, and ever raised his voice,
Until he gained a hearing, part by bowing,
And partly by his thin and noisy speech.
“I too desire to fight,” he cried, and smote
With both hands on his breast; “although I bear
No Sprinkler, with a barge-pole once I gave
Good christening to four Prussians at a time,
Who would have drowned me in the foamy Pregel.”
“You’re a bold fellow, Bartek!” Baptist cried.
“Good! Sprinkle, sprinkle!”—“But then, sweetest Jesus!
We first must know with whom to fight, and why;
Must tell it to the world,” the Prussian cried.
“For who will follow us? where shall they march?
When, whither go, when we ourselves don’t know?
Brother nobility! ye noble sirs!
Good gentlemen! we must have judgment, we
Must order have and regularity!
Ye wish for war. Let us confederate;
Let us consider how we shall unite,
And underneath whose staff. So was it in
Great Poland; we the Germans saw retreat.
What did we? We in secret did advise;
We armed the nobles, and the peasant throng.
When ready, we did wait Dombrowski’s orders;
At last! heyday! to horse! we rose at once.”
“I beg a hearing,” the Commissary
From Klecko cried. A young man, handsome, dressed
In German fashion. Buchman was he called.
But yet he was a Pole, in Poland born.
’Twas not for certain known if he descended
From nobles; but none asked concerning that,
And all respected Buchman, as he served
A great lord, a good patriot was, and versed
In learning; he from foreign books had learned
The art of husbandry, and with good order
Performed the administration of the lands.
From politics he sage conclusions drew,
By writings smooth and elegant could make
Himself renowned. And therefore all were still
When he began to speak. “I beg a hearing,”
Repeated he, and coughed three times; he bowed,
And thus with sounding lips he clattered forth:
“The previous speakers, in their eloquent
Speeches, have touched on all the vital points,
And chiefest; they have the discussion raised
Unto a higher standard. Unto me
Remains alone to blow unto one fire,
These scattered thoughts and reasonings. I have hopes
To reconcile all contrary opinions.
Two parts in the discussion have I marked,
Division is already made; I go
By this division. First of all, for what
Shall we make insurrection? in what spirit?
This is the first and foremost vital question
The second question doth concern itself,
With revolutionary government.
And this division is right excellent,
Only I fain would have it t’other way.
First to begin with government. As soon
As government I understand, therefrom
I may deduce its spirit and its aim.
So, as to government; as I glance o’er
The history of all humankind, what in it
Observe I? That the savage human race,
Scattered in forests, herd together, bind
Themselves together for their mutual
Defence; they this consider, and this is
The first of councils. Each one then lays down
A portion of his proper liberty
For general good; and this is the first statute,
From whence, as from a fount, all legislation
Doth flow. We therefore see that government
Is by agreement framed, proceeding not,
As some judge wrongly, from the will of God
But on a mutual contract government
The rather is supported, and division
Of powers is but a needful consequence.”
“There you have contracts! of Kiew or Minsk!”
Old Matthew cried out; “truly Babin rule!
Pan Buchman, whether God sent us the Czar,
Or ’twere the devil, I’ll not quarrel with you,
But only tell us how to oust the Czar.”
“Ay! that’s the knotty point!” the Baptist cried.
“If I might spring up to the throne, and with
My Sprinkler plash and wet the Czar, no more
By any contract would he aye return,
Of Kiew, of Minsk, or any Buchman treaty;
Nor could his priests by power divine restore him,
Nor by the power of Belzebub. I call
Him a bold fellow, who will sprinkle. Buchman,
Your speech, good sir, was very eloquent,
But eloquence is froth and hum. To sprinkle,
That’s the chief thing.”
“Just so, just so,” hissed forth,
Rubbing both hands together, Bartek, named
Razor, from Matthew to the Baptist running,
Like shuttle thrown from one side of a loom
Across its length unto the further side.
“Only thou Matthew with the Rod, and thou
Matthew with club, agree; by heaven! we
Shall smash the Muscovites to bits; the Awl
Will go beneath the orders of the Rod.”
“Command is good,” said Baptist; “for parade,
One order in the Kowno brigade we
Had, short and pithy: Frighten, but yourselves
Be not afraid! Fight, but surrender not.
March forward often, deal blows thickly round!
‘Whizz! whizz!’ ”
“Yes, those the orders are for me,”
Replied the Awl; “why write an act? waste ink?
We must confederate? Why is all this coil?
Our Matthew be the Marshal, and the Rod
His staff.”—“Long live,” cried Baptist, “Weathercock!”
The nobles answered, “Long the Sprinkler live!”
But in the corners rose a murmur, though
’Twas stifled in the midst; ’twas seen the council
Was now divided in two parties. Buchman
Said, “Never praise I unanimity;
That is my system.” Some one else exclaimed,
“I lay my veto down!” some from the corners
Re-echoed him. At last a rough voice spoke:
The nobleman Skoluba late arrived.
“What’s this here, you Dobrzynskis? what is doing?
And we, are we then outlaws? When we were
Invited hither from our settlement,
And by the Klucznik Rembajlo Mopanku,
They told us that some great things should be done;
Not only the Dobrzynski family,
But the whole district, whole nobility,
Therein should be concerned, and Robak talked
In a like manner, though he never finished,
And indistinctly spoke, and darkly he
Explained himself. At last, the end of ends,
We rode here, and by couriers summoned all
Our neighbours. And you are not here alone,
Masters Dobrzynski. We are full two hundred
From various other farmsteads of us here.
So let us all take counsel. If a Marshal
Be needed, let us all proclaim him, be
The ballot equal. Live equality!”
Two Terajewicze then, four Stypulkowscy,
Three Mickiewicze cried aloud, “Long live
Equality!” Skoluba’s side upholding;
And Buchman meanwhile, “Unanimity
Were ruin!”—And the Baptist said, “We’ll do
Without your help. Long live our Marshal, Matthew
Of Matthews! Hey! unto the staff!” Loud shouted
All the Dobrzynskis, “We entreat you!” but
The stranger nobles, “We permit it not!”
So in two parties was the crowd divided,
Each nodding in defiance to the rest;
One crying, “We permit it not!” the others,
“We do entreat you!”
But old Matthew still
Alone unmoving, in the centre sat,
And the sole head immovable was his.
There opposite to him the Baptist stood,
With both hands leaning on his club; but round
His head he kept turning, leaning on its top,
Like to a gourd fixed on a lofty pole,
And forward now, now back, alternately
He nodded, and unceasing “Sprinkle, sprinkle!”
Exclaimed. Along the room unquiet Razor
Ran from the Baptist unto Matthew’s bench.
The Bucket slowly passed across the room,
From the Dobrzynskis to the noblemen,
As though he would unite them. One cried out
Unceasing, “Shave!” the other, “Deluge ’em.”
Matthew was silent, but ’twas plainly seen
That he was angry.
And this uproar raged
A quarter of an hour, when from amid
The heads of all the shouting crowd upsprang
A shining column high. It was a rapier,
A fathom long, a whole span broad, and sharp
On either side; it was a Teuton sword,
Of steel of Nuremberg. All silence kept,
Gazing upon the sword; who carried it
They knew not, but immediately they guessed.
“The Penknife!” they exclaimed; “long live the Penknife!
Hail to the Penknife! jewel of Rembajlo!
Hail to Rembajlo, Notchy-pate, Half-goat,
Mopanku!”
Soon Gervasy (for ’twas he)
Pressed through the crowd into the chamber’s midst,
And made the Penknife’s blade to flash around;
Lowering the point in sign of a salute,
To Matthew said: “The Penknife bows unto
The Rod. My brothers, nobles of Dobrzynski!
I come not here to counsel you in aught;
I’ll only tell you why I brought you here,
And what to do, how do’t, yourselves decide.
Ye know that long a rumour goeth round
The nobles’ farmsteads, that great things shall be
Done in the world. Friar Robak spoke of this.
Ye all know?”—“Ay! we know!” they cried. “Good, good.”
“ ‘Unto the wise,’ ” pursued the orator,
With penetrating glance, “ ‘two words suffice.’
Is this not true?”—“Ay, true indeed,” they said.
“When the French Emperor,” the Klucznik spoke,
“Shall march from there, the Russian Czar from there,
War follows ’twixt the Czar and Emperor.
Kings fall to loggerheads with kings, as is
The custom among monarchs. And shall we
Sit still? When great folks other great men throttle,
Let us the lesser strangle, each his own,
From high to low, the great the great, the small
The small; as soon as we begin to strike
Down falls the whole confederacy of knaves.
Thus flourish happiness and the Republic.
Is not this true?”—“ ’Tis true,” they said, “as though
He read it from a book.”—“True,” did repeat
The Baptist; “sprinkle, sprinkle, and be quits!”
“I’m ready aye to shave,” the Razor cried.
“Do but agree,” the Bucket courteously
Entreated, “under whose command to go,
Baptist and Matthew!” Buchman interrupted:
“Let fools agree. Discussions never hurt
The public cause. I beg you to be still.
Let’s listen, for the cause hereby will gain.
The Klucznik from a new point will discuss it.”
“Rather,” the Klucznik said, “from my great age,
’Tis meet for me to think of weighty things.
To do that there’s an emperor, there will be
A king, a senate, deputies. Such things,
Mopanku, are in Krakow done, or Warsaw,
But not among us here in Dobrzyn. Not
On chimneys with a piece of chalk are written
Confederation Acts, nor in a barge;
On parchment are they written. Not for us
To write an act, for Poland has alike
Crown and Litvanian Writers; our forefathers
Proceeded thus. My business is to slay with
The Penknife.”—“Mine to splash with Sprinkler,” said
The Baptist.—“And to pierce through with the Awl,”
Cried Bartek of the Awl, his slender sword
Producing.
“All of us,” the Klucznik said,
“I take as witnesses. For did not Robak
Say that before you in your house receive
Napoleon, you must sweep the dirt away?
Ye all heard that. Do ye all understand?
Who traitorously slew the best of Poles?
Who robbed him, plundered, yet would wrest away
The remnant from the true inheritor?
Who is he? Must I tell you?”—“ ’Tis Soplica.
The villain!” broke in Bucket.—“Fie! the tyrant!”
Hissed Razor forth. “Then sprinkle him!” said Baptist.
“If he’s a traitor,” Buchman said, “then to
The gallows!”—“Down!” cried all, “down with Soplica!”
But here the Prussian dared to undertake
Defending of the Judge, and to the nobles
He cried, with lifted arms: “My brothers! no!
Ah! no! by God’s wounds! What is this new thing?
Sir Klucznik, are you mad? Were we then speaking
Of this? Because a man at one time had
A mad and outlaw brother, shall we then
Chastise him for his brother? That were Christian!
There is some plotting of the Count’s in this.
To say the Judge was hard upon the nobles
Is falsehood! Heaven forbid that it were truth!
It is yourselves would summon him to law,
But he seeks concord with you. Freely he
Doth yield his own; he pays the mark beside.
He has a suit against the Count—what then?
They both are rich; let lord contend with lord.
What’s that to us? The Judge a tyrant! He
Did first forbid the peasant to bow down
To earth before him, saying that was sin.
Not seldom at his house a company
Of peasants (I myself have seen) sit down
With him at table. For his peasantry
He pays the taxes, and it is not so
In Klecko, though you rule there, Master Buchman,
In German fashion. What! the Judge a traitor!
We have known each other from the lowest form.
Good was he as a child, and now the same.
He loveth Poland more than all things. He
Keeps Polish customs, and no entrance gives
To Russian fashions. Oft as I return
From Prussia, wishing to wash off the German,
I go to Soplicowo, as the centrum
Of Polish manners; there one may drink in
And breathe one’s country. Heaven forbid! Dobrzynskis!
I am your brother, but I will not let
The Judge be wronged, and this shall come to nought.
It was not, brothers, in Great Poland so.
What spirit and what concord! dear to mem’ry!
None there with such a trifle dared to mar
Our council.”
“ ’Tis no trifle,” said the Klucznik,
“To hang up rascals!”
Louder grew the murmur.
Then Jankiel begged a hearing; on a bench
He sprang, he stood, and raised above their heads
His beard like tavern-bush, that hung far down
Unto his girdle. With his right hand he
Did slowly doff his cap of foxes’ skin,
And with his left composed again his gown
Disordered; then his left hand he replaced
Upon his girdle, and thus made discourse,
With fox-skin kolpak bowing all round:
“Now, sirs Dobrzynski! I’m a Jew myself.
The Judge to me is neither kith nor kin.
I honour the Soplicas as right good
Masters, and as my landlords; I respect
All the Dobrzynskis likewise, all the Barteks,
And Matthews, all as neighbours very good,
And benefactors. But I tell you this:
If you do any violence to the Judge,
’Tis very wrong. Maybe you’ll conquer, kill—
But the Assessors, and the Sprawnik? Prison.
For in the Soplicowo village is
A band of soldiers, Jägers all. The Assessor
Is in the house, and if he only whistle,
They’ll muster there, and come as though on purpose.
And what will be? If for the French you wait,
The French are still far off; the way is long.
I am a Jew; I nothing know of war;
But I was in Bielica, where I saw
Jews from the very frontier; and they say,
The Frenchmen stand on the Lososna river,
And if there’s war, ’twill not be till the spring.
Now, thus I say; wait yet a little time.
The Soplicowo house is not a booth
That one can take down, put into a wagon,
And drive away; the mansion as it stood
Will stand until the spring. The Judge is not
A Jew upon a lease; he will not fly;
You’ll find him there next spring. And now, go home,
And do not talk aloud of what has been,
For talking is in vain. And if it please
The noble gentlemen, I beg you come
With me. My Sarah has a little Jankiel.
I will treat all to-day, and have great music.
I’ll order bagpipes, bass-viol, two fiddles—
And Master Matthew loves old July mead,
And a new mazurka; I have new mazurkas,
And I have taught my boys to sing right well.”
The generally belovèd Jankiel’s speech
Went to their hearts; a cry arose, a shout
Of joy, a murmur of consent went round
Behind the very house—when with the Penknife
Gervasy pointed unto Jankiel.
The Jew sprang down, he vanished in the crowd.
The Klucznik cried, “Away, Jew! never thrust
Thy fingers between doors; this thee concerns not!
Because you trade, Sir Prussian, with a pair
Of miserable barges, that belong
Unto the Judge, you strain your throat for him.
Have you forgotten then, Mopanku, how
Your father floated down to Prussia twenty
Barges belonging to Horeszko, whereby
He did enrich himself and family?
And even all of you, who are in Dobrzyn,
You old men may remember, you, young men,
Have heard, the Pantler was to all of you
A father and a benefactor. Whom
Sent he commissioner to his Pinsk estates?
’Twas a Dobrzynski. Who were his accountants?
Dobrzynskis. And his stewardship, finances,
To none except Dobrzynskis did he trust.
Your interests he promoted in the courts;
He got you bread of favour from the king;
He sent your children, at his own expense,
To school to the Pijary fathers, paid
Their board and clothing, and at his expense
Advanced them when grown-up. Why did he this?
Because he was your neighbour. And to-day
Soplica’s borders touch upon your frontier.
When did he ever aught of good to you?”
“Nothing whatever,” Bucket now broke in;
“For from a petty noble he grew up,
And how he puffs himself with pride, faugh! faugh!
How lifts he up his nose! Do you remember?
I asked him to my daughter’s wedding. I
Was drinking; but he would not drink. Says he,
‘I cannot drink like all you noblemen;
You nobles drink like fishes.’ There’s a magnate!
A delicate dish of flour of Marymont!
He drank not; down his throat we poured the wine.
He cried, ‘You wrong me!’ Well then, wait a bit,
And from my Bucket I will deluge thee!”
“The wretch!” cried Baptist; “oh! I’ll sprinkle him!
My son, he was a prudent boy, but now
He is grown so stupid that they call him Bustard.
The Judge is cause that he is such a fool.
I said, ‘Why creepest thou to Soplicowo?
If there I catch thee may the Lord defend thee!’
Again he went to see Sophia, lying
In wait among the hemp. I caught him, and
I laid about his ears at once; he bleated
And whimpered, as he were a little boy.
‘Father, although you kill me, I must go.’
And he kept whimpering. ‘What is the matter?’
And then he told me that he loved Sophia,
He wished to look upon her. I was sorry
For the poor fellow; so unto the Judge
I said, ‘Judge, give Sophia to the Bustard.’
He said, ‘She’s young as yet; wait three years more.
See what she wish herself.’ The wretch! he lied!
He’s now betrothing her to somebody.
I’ve heard so. I will creep in at the wedding,
And with my Sprinkler sanctify their couch.”
“And shall such villain,” said the Klucznik, “be
A ruler? shall he ruin ancient lords,
His betters? shall he make to perish both
Horeszko’s name and race? Where in the world
Is gratitude? It is not here in Dobrzyn.
Brothers, you wish to fight the Russian Czar,
And fear to fight the house of Soplicowo.
You are afraid of prison. Should I counsel
You unto murder? Heaven forbid it! Nobles
And brothers, by the law I take my stand.
The Count in very truth has gained the suit,
Has gained already not a few decrees.
It but remains to put in execution!
So was it formerly. The tribunal
Wrote a decree, the nobles would enforce it,
Most chiefly the Dobrzynskis; and your glory
Thus grew in Litva. You yourselves, Dobrzynskis,
In the Mysk foray fought against the Russians,
Led by Wojsilowicz, the Russian general,
And by a villain who was friend to him,
Wolk of Logomowicze. You remember,
How we made Wolk our prisoner; how we wished
To hang him on a beam, inside a barn,
Because he was a tyrant to the peasants,
As well as servant to the Muscovites.
But as those foolish peasants pitied him,
I had to spit him elsewhere on my Penknife.
I will not here recall you other raids,
Without a number, whence you always came
With booty and applause, as suiteth nobles.
Why speak of this? To-day the Count in vain,
Your neighbour, urges suit, procures decrees,
And none of you will the poor orphan help,
Heir of that Pantler, who so many fed.
No friend now has he; only me, the Klucznik,
And this most faithful Penknife here of mine.”
“The Sprinkler also,” said the Baptist. “Where
Thou art, Gervasy, there will I be too.
And while I have a hand, and it can plash,
Plash in my hand! For two are two! By heaven,
Gervasy mine, thou hast a sword, and I
My Sprinkler, and I’ll sprinkle well, and thou
Shalt hew them down. And so whizz! whizz! plash! plash!
And let them talk!”
“And here is Bartek too,”
The Razor said; “my brothers won’t reject me.
And when you lather, I will shave away.”
“And I,” the Bucket said, “will march with you.
And if we cannot make the rest agree
About the choice of Marshal, what are votes
And balls to me? Another sort of ball
For me.” Here from his pouch he drew a handful
Of bullets, and he clinked them in his hand.
“Here are the balls,” he cried; “into the Judge
With all the balls!”—“With you!” Skoluba cried;
“We’ll join with you; wherever you are, we
Shall also be! Long live the Horeszkos! live
The Half-goats! Long the Klucznik live, Rembajlo!
Down with Soplica!”
Thus the eloquent
Gervasy drew all hearts along with him,
For each one had some grievance ’gainst the Judge,
As usual is with neighbours. One complained
Of damage, one about a clearing, one
About infringement of a boundary;
The rest were moved by envy of his wealth.
But hatred did unite them all; they pressed
Around the Klucznik, lifting up on high
Their clubs and sabres.
Matthew, hitherto
Gloomy, immovable, now from the bench
Arose, and strode into the chamber’s midst,
And planted firm his hands upon his sides,
And looking straight before him shook his head.
He raised his voice, and slowly every word
Pronounced, with emphasis and weight: “Ye fools!
Ye fools! And fools ye are! Who cometh to
The mill may grind upon you! So then, while
The council talked of Poland’s resurrection,
The common weal, ye fools! there were disputes
Among ye! Ye could not, ye fools! discourse
Together, nor in order, or appoint
A leader over you, ye fools! But let
One urge your private grievances, ye fools!
Then is there concord ’mid you! Get you gone!
For as I Matthew am, by many millions,
Hundred of many thousands, cartloads, tons,
Wagons, casks full of devils!!!—”
All were silent,
As struck by thunder, till a fearful cry
Arose behind the house, “Long live the Count!”
He entered, riding in the Matthews’ farm,
Himself well armed; ten armèd jockeys followed.
The Count was mounted on a gallant steed,
Clad all in black; a wide cloak over all,
Nut-brown, of cut Italian, without sleeves,
Like a great veil, and fastened by a clasp
About the neck, did o’er his shoulders fall.
He wore a broad hat with a feather, and
He bore a sword. Round turning, with the sword
The assembly he saluted.
“Live the Count!”
They cried; “with him we’ll live and die.” The nobles
Peeped from the cottage windows, following
The Klucznik, pressing nearer to the door.
The Klucznik went out, and the crowd rushed forth
Behind him through the doors. Matthias drove out
The others, closed the door, and drew the bolt;
But looking from the window once again,
Said, “Fools!”
Meanwhile the nobles flocked around
The Count, and went into the tavern. Now
Gervasy recollected former times.
Three girdles from their garments he commands
They bring him; by them from the tavern vault
He dragged three casks; the one containing mead,
The other wódka, and the third held beer.
He drew the bung out; with a murmur spurted
Three streams forth; one like silver white, the other
Red as a bloodstone, yellow was the third.
They in a threefold rainbow play on high,
And in a thousand barrels falling, hum
Within a hundred glasses. Loudly shout
The noblemen; some drink, some wish the Count
A hundred years; all cry “Down with Soplica!”
In silence Jankiel meanwhile had escaped
Upon a bare-backed steed. The Prussian, likewise
Unheard, though still he eloquently spoke,
Tried to escape; the nobles him pursued,
Crying, he was a traitor. Far apart
Mickiewicz stood, nor shouted, nor advised,
But from his mien that he some evil thing
Concocted, plain was seen. So to their swords,
And hey! He backward drew, and made a stand,
Leaning against the hedge, when to his aid
Sprang Zan and the three Czeczots. After that
The nobles were dispersed; but in this stir
Two on the hand were wounded, one received
A cut upon the ear; the others mounted
On horseback.
Then Gervasy and the Count
Arrange the ranks, distribute arms, commands.
At last all down the settlement’s long street
Gallop, loud shouting, “Down, down with Soplica!”