And strove to rouse her, and to dry her tears.
Meanwhile exposed to stool and bottle strokes
Gervasy tottered; now with tucked-up sleeves
The servant throng rushed on him from all sides;
When happily Sophia, as she saw
The assault, with pity moved, to the old man
Sprang forward, with her little hands wide spread
She shielded him. The assailants ceased; Gervasy
Drew slowly backward, vanished from their eyes.
They looked to see if he were hid beneath
The table, when he suddenly came forth
Upon the other side, as though emerged
From under ground, and in his powerful arms
A bench high-raising, like a windmill’s sails
He whirled it round, and half the hall made clear;
Then took with him the Count, and both thus screened
With the defending bench, retired towards
The little door, and reached the threshold; yet
Gervasy stood, and looked upon his foes.
He stood awhile in thought, uncertain whether
To draw back under arms, or once again
With newer arms his fortune try in war.
He chose the second course. He lifted high
The bench like battering ram behind to strike.
He bent his head, with breast thrust out in front,
With lifted foot, he for attack prepared,
When he perceived the Wojski, and he felt
In spirit terror. Sitting still, the Wojski
Appeared as deep in meditation plunged.
At the beginning, when the Count began
The quarrel with the Chamberlain, and when
He spoke those threatening words unto the Judge,
The Wojski turned away; he twice took snuff,
And rubbed his eyes; though but a distant kinsman
Unto the Judge, he dwelt within his house,
And heedful of his good friend’s safety aye
Was he; and so with deep concern he gazed
Upon the fight. He lightly stretched his hand
Across the table, palm and fingers, laid
Upon one hand a knife, the handle placed
Upon the index finger-nail; but turned
Towards his elbow was the steely blade.
Then balancing the hand turned somewhat back,
It seemed like sport—but on the Count he gazed.
The art of throwing knives, most terrible
In single fight, already at that time
In Litva was disused, and only known
To old men; but the Klucznik sometimes had
Proved it in tavern combats, and the Wojski
Excelled therein; it well might be perceived,
From action of his hand, he aimed towards
The Count, the last of the Horeszkos, though
By spindle-side. The younger men, less heedful,
Knew not what signified the old man’s movements.
Gervasy turned pale; with the bench he covered
The Count’s retreat, and to the doors retired.
“Catch him!” the throng cried. As a wolf, surprised
On sudden at his feast of carrion,
Will cast him blindly on the throng that break
Upon his feast, pursue them, and proceed
To tear them into pieces; all at once,
Amid the canine shriek, a trigger’s click
Doth sound; the wolf doth know it, searches round,
Perceives the huntsman there behind the dogs,
On one knee bending, who the barrel turns
Towards him, and the trigger stirreth now.
The wolf drops down his ears, and hies away
With tail between his legs; the pack, with cry
Of triumph, rush upon him, tear the tufts
Of hair upon him. Round the beast at times
Will turn, he looks, and grindeth with his jaw;
And by the gnashing of his white tusks, scarce
The pack doth threaten, when with whining cry
They all disperse. Even thus Gervasy held
With threatening mien assailants all at bay,
With eyes and bench; until he with the Count
Did enter in a dark and deep recess.
“Catch ’em!” the cry once more arose. Not long
That triumph, for above the heads of all
The crowd, the Klucznik showed him in the choir,
Beside the ancient organ, and began
To tear off with loud crash the leaden pipes,
And smiting from above, he surely had
Inflicted great disaster. But the guests
In tumult left the hall; the frightened servants
Dared not approach; and quickly gathering up
The table-vessels, rapidly they fled
In footsteps of their masters; left behind
The covers, with their spoons and forks in part.
Who latest did retire, not heeding blows
Or threatenings, from the battle-field?
It was Protasius Brzechalski. He, unmoved,
Stood by the Judge’s chair, and with the voice
Of summoner his declaration made,
Until he ended it, and backward drew
Leaving the empty battle-field, where lay
The dead and wounded, and a mighty ruin.
No loss was there in men. But every bench
Had legs put out of joint; the table, too,
Was lame, and naked of its table-cloth.
It lay upon the plates, wine-deluged o’er,
As ’twere a knight on bloody shields, among
The many bodies of the chickens and
The turkeys, in whose breasts forks lately planted
Remained. A little while, and everything
Within the lonely castle of Horeszko
Had to its rest accustomed come again.
The twilight thickened; the remainder of
That lordly, stately banquet lay there, as
In that nocturnal festival, wherein,
At the solemnity of ancestors,157
The dead are gathered. Now three times had shrieked
The screech-owls in the garret, like the wizards.158
The rising of the moon they seemed to hail,
Whose beam fell through the window, quivering
Upon the table, as it were a soul
In purgatory; from the under-ground
Sprang rats, like damnèd souls; they gnaw, they drink.
At times, forgotten in the corner, burst
A bottle of champagne, as if to toast159
The spirits. But upon the upper floor,
Within that chamber called the mirrored room,
Though there were now no mirrors, stood the Count
Upon the balcony against the door.
He cooled him in the wind, upon one arm
He wore a surtout, but the other sleeve
And skirts were folded round his neck, and draped
The surtout like a mantle o’er his breast.
Gervasy strode with wide steps through the hall;
And both, in deep thought, talked unto themselves.
“Pistols,” the Count said; “sabres if they will.”
“The castle,” said the Klucznik, “and the village
Are both our own.”—“The uncle, nephew,” cried
The Count, “I’ll challenge the whole race together!”160
“The castle,” cried the Klucznik, “village, land,
Seize them, sir!” Saying this he turned towards
The Count: “If you, my lord, do peace desire,
Seize everything. Why go to law, Mopanku?
The cause is clear as day; the castle was
In the Horeszkos’ hands four hundred years.
Part of the revenues were wrested in
The time of Targowica, and, as well
You know, were given to Soplica’s rule.
Not this part only we must get from them;
The whole, for
