Pan Tadeusz: Book VII: Council

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!”