Of robbery. I always told you, sir,
Abandon lawsuits; always told you, sir,
Invade them, harry them! yes, thus it was
In former days; who once had held the land
Was owner; win in field, thou also wilt
In law-courts win. And as for former quarrels
With the Soplicas, better is the Penknife
For them than lawsuits. But if Matthew will
Lend me his Rod to help me, we will soon
Chop both of these Soplicas up to chaff.”
“Bravo!” the Count exclaimed; “this plan of thine,
Gothic Sarmatian, better pleases me
Than wrangling of the advocates. We’ll make
A noise throughout all Litva with this thing,
Unheard of since the ancient times, and we
Shall also reap amusement. These two years
That I have dwelt here, what battles have I seen?
Among the peasants for a boundary ridge.
This enterprise of ours doth promise bloodshed.
During my travels I have been in one.
In Sicily a certain prince’s guest
We Was I, when brigands carried to the mountains
His son-in-law, and from his relatives
The daring wretches asked a ransom. We
In haste collected all the serving-men
And vassals, and upon the robbers fell.
Myself two brigands slew with mine own hand,
And first was in their fortress, setting free
The prisoner. Ah! Gervasy mine! what triumph
’Twas then! Our coming back, how beautiful!
So knightly-feudal! All the people met us
With flowers; the prince’s daughter in my arms
Fell, grateful to the brave deliverer.
When in Palermo I arrived, the whole
Was known already from gazettes. The women
Would point me out; there even had been printed
A novel on the whole affair, wherein
I mentioned am by name. The title of
The novel is as followeth: ‘The Pole,
Or Mysteries of the Castle of Birbante—
Rocca!’ Are there within this castle dungeons?”
“There are enormous cellars,” said the Klucznik,
“But they are empty; the Soplicas have
Drunk all the wine up.”—“We must arm the jockeys,”
The Count said, “in the house; the vassalage
Must summon from our own domains.”—“What! lackeys!
Forbid it, Heaven!” Gervasy cried; “is then
A foray but a deed of villainy?
Whoever knew a foray made with peasants
And lackeys? You, my lord, know nought at all
Of raids. But nobles, that is something other
Than vassals; they are found not on estates,
But in the nobles’ farmsteads there in Dobrzyn,
In Rzesikow, in Cietycz, in Rabanki;
And nobles are they from eternity,
In whom flows knightly blood, all friends unto
Horeszko’s family, and deadly foes
Unto Soplica. I will gather from them
A hundred whiskered nobles. That I’ll do.
You, sir, return unto your palace, sleep
Your fill; to-morrow there will be great work.
You love to sleep; ’tis late; the second cock
Has crowed already. I will stay to guard
The castle until dawn; but with the sun
I stand within the farmsteads of Dobrzynski.”161
The Count at these words left the balcony,
But ere he went he through a shot-hole gazed,
And as he viewed a multitude of lights
Within Soplica’s house: “Light up!” he cried.
“To-morrow at this hour it will be bright
Within this castle, in your mansion dark.”
Gervasy sat upon the ground, and leaned
Against the wall, while sank upon his breast
His thoughtful brow. The moonlight fell upon
The summit of his bald head; with his finger
Gervasy traced upon it many strokes.
He dreamed of warlike plans in coming raids;
But more and more his heavy eyelids weighed
Upon him, and he bowed his powerless neck.
He felt that sleep was overtaking him,
And as his custom was, he did begin
His evening prayers. But ’tween the Paternoster
And Ave Mary wondrous phantoms rose,
Who crowded round the Klucznik, and who whirled
About him. He beholdeth the Horeszkos,
His former lords; some bearing sabres, others
With truncheons; each one looks with threatening glance,
His whiskers twirls, and flourishes his sword,
Or shakes his truncheon;162 after them there came
One silent, gloomy shade, a bloody spot
Upon his breast. Gervasy shuddered, for
He recognised the Pantler; he began
To sign the cross around him, and more surely
To drive off fearful dreams, he said aloud
The litany for souls in purgatory.
Again his sight was shut; within his ears
There was a sound. He saw a crowd of nobles
On horseback, and the sabres gleamed. “A foray!
A foray!” Korelicz and Rymsza lead them.
And he beheld himself on charger grey,
His dreadful rapier lifted o’er his head;
He flies, his mantle with wide-streaming folds
Rustling, the cap from his left ear falls back.
He flies, o’erthrowing horse and foot upon
The road; at last Soplica in his barn
He burneth up. Then sank upon his breast
His brow, with heavy dreaming weighted down.
Thus the last Klucznik of Horeszko slept.
Book VI
The Farmstead163
The first warlike movements of the foray—Protasy’s expedition—Robak takes counsel with the Judge about the public cause—Continuation of Protasy’s bootless errand—Episode of the hemp—The farmstead of the noble family of Dobrzyn—Description of the homestead and person of Matthias Dobrzynski.
From the damp twilight stole forth, dimly seen,
Light without blushing, leading on the day
With lightless eye. The day had risen long since,
But scarce as yet was visible. A mist
Hung o’er the earth, as thatch of straw o’erhangs
A poor Litvanian hut; towards the east
A circle somewhat whiter than the rest
The sun betokened, risen in the sky.
Thence must he to the earth descend, but he
Passed joylessly, and slumbered on his way.
By heaven’s example all was late on earth,
The cattle to their pasture went forth late,
And stumbled on the hares, still feeding late,
Though used to come back to their groves at dawn.
To-day, enveloped in the rolling mists,
Some crunch the damp grass, others burrowing
Upon the field, in couples flock together,
And think to enjoy the open air betimes.
But they before the cattle must retreat
Unto the forest. In the forests too
Was silence. The awakened bird sang not;
He shook his feathers clear of dew, and pressed
Close to the tree, and thrust his head again
Beneath his wings, half-shut his eyes, and waited
The sun. On shores of water ’mid the mire,
The storks do clatter with their beaks; the crows
Sit dripping wet, with large and open beaks,
And carry on their lengthy chatterings;
Hateful to farmers, prophets of the rain.
The husbandmen had long gone forth to work.
The reapers now began their ’customed song,
Monotonous and gloomy, full of longing,
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