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Updated: May 27, 2025
Then he smiled queerly to himself, and said: "I used to think ilka bonny lassie bude to be a poetess for hoo sud she be bonnie but by the informin' hermony o' her bein'? an' what's that but the poetry o' the Poet, the Makar, as they ca'd a poet i' the auld Scots tongue? but haith! I ken better an' waur noo!
Makar was plainly a man of iron nerve, for he met calmly and even boldly the indignant, defiant glances that were turned upon him as he scanned the row of prisoners ranged before him. Glancing toward the windows he dispersed with a wave of his hand the dark swarm of faces peering eagerly within, and then at last he deigned to break the silence which had become so ominous.
"Have I not said that Makar's word is inviolate?" the Arab resumed, leaning forward and uttering each syllable sharply and distinctly. "Can Makar break his pledge?" and he turned to his solemn visaged ministers. "No, no, no," they muttered in guttural accents, and solemnly shaking their heads. "Then hark ye all," Makar went on.
Perhaps Makar doubted his ability to keep his word, for he hurried his prisoners into the residency, away from the turbulent crowd, and left them in the hall in custody of a dozen armed Arabs. They had not been here five minutes when a commotion was heard outside, and the shattered doors were pulled apart to admit half a dozen weary, blood stained soldiers of the garrison.
For sensation itself is but vision nascent, not the cause of intelligence, but intelligence itself revealed as an earlier power in the process of self-construction. Makar, ilathi moi; Pater, ilathi moi Ei para kosmon, Ei para moiran Ton son ethigon!
Further information the Arab refused to give. The caravan comprised a dozen Arabs and thirty or forty Somalis of the Galla country. It was to these crafty savages that the captives belonged. The Somalis had assisted Makar in the revolt, and these slaves were their reward. Their chief, who accompanied the caravan, was none other than Guy's vindictive enemy, Oko Sam.
Far from being crushed by fate, his vagabonds clothe themselves with a certain pride in their misery; for them, the ideal existence is the one they lead, because it is free; with numerous variations, they all exalt the irresistible seduction of vagabondage: "As for me, just listen! How many things I've seen in my fifty-eight years," says Makar Choudra. "In what country have I not been?
Makar does not dream, however, when he is normal; he hasn't time to, for he has to chop wood, plough, sow, and grind grain. He only dreams when he is drunk. As soon as he is under the influence of liquor, he weeps and says that he is going to leave everything and go to the "sacred mountain" to gain salvation for his soul. What is the name of this mountain? Where is it?
"You calm yourself and I will come to you early in the morning." Erast Ivanitch has half his head shaven to the skin and looks like a convict. It is awkward to be left with a head like that, but there is no help for it. He wraps his head in the shawl and walks out of the barber's shop. Left alone, Makar Kuzmitch sits down and goes on quietly weeping. Early next morning Erast Ivanitch comes again.
Makar Alexeevich was standing with parted lips, swaying, as if about to fall asleep, as he leaned against the wall. "Brigand! You shall pay for this," said the Frenchman, letting go of him. "We French are merciful after victory, but we do not pardon traitors," he added, with a look of gloomy dignity and a fine energetic gesture.
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