How The Russian Writer
Alexander Bestushev Marlinsky (1797/1837)
In His Short Story " Blood For Blood" Anticipated Donald J(oker) Trump, The International Gangster.
Through A miniscule Local Gangster
....,,, One would think why build such strongholds if you intended to live at peace with your neighbours? Truth to tell, peace in those days could be worse than wars nowadays. Give a friendly shake with one hand and strike with the other,- and the fat would be in the fire. And whoever won was judged right. However, those knights were nobody's fools either. When they got people to build those castles for them they said it was to defend them from foreign invaders, but once they they had the castles built and had ensconced themselves in those eagles' nests it turned out that what they wanted was to sally forth on raid themselves. That's what the owner of this castle did - Baron Bruno von Eisen, his name was. He was by no means the meekest of his fellows who, it must be said, were notorious even beyond the sea for their boldness. When he barked: To horse!" his braves would leap into their saddles, and woe to the man who rode out last. If the baron had his sword strapped to his belt, and the sword was said to weigh all of a pool, none would venture to ask him where they were bent. Just dash headlong after him , that's all. ...
... And so, when this baron got bored with sitting and drinking, he'd rush to the Russian border. He needed neither bridge nor ford. He'd come galloping up to the edge of a cliff, at the foot of which the river rowed and howled like a savage beast, and what do you think" He'd yell: " follow me lads!" and jump down first. Those who swam out were lucky, those who who were drowned were good riddance. He'd only say, "The swine!" And forget them....the Baron would ride far into Russia, and take people unawares When he sighted a village, he called for torches, and once all the houses were ablaze he ordered everything to be thrown into the fire, that is, whatever could not be carried off. Cut down anyone who put up a resistance, and into the fire with anyone who screamed! As often as not they killed needlessly, for sport, but the Baron would say that it was to keep in practice and polish their skill. When they had their fill of fun, they would load the loot on the horses, seat the beauties on their saddles, tie the prisoners to their stirrups, ride back home, and, once there, they'd divide up the loot and abandon themselves to an orgy of revelling and feasting.
The Baron would be drinking with his neighbours , and the more he drank, the more he strutted. " I am this, and I am that, and who says I'm not? He was the bravest, and he was the noblest. there was none to hold a candle to him. And if he caught someone looking at him askance, he'd start cursing and quarreling , and the next thing there'd be sword play... But that was nothing ; if the Baron got really angry at a neighbour he'd go on a raid with his entire household and his dogs, trampling the victim's fields and setting fire to his woods. God forbid crossing his path at that black hour! If he saw an Estonian from afar, he'd gallop to him with his sword raised and yell"
"Recite the 'Credo", you heathen!"
The man would collapse to his knees, more dead than alive. He did not understand a word of German, you know.
"I don't understand a word of German" he would mumble in Esthonian.
"Recite, I tell you!"
"I don't understand.. "
"alright , you pighead of a heathen! I'll Christen you!"
Swish went the sword, and there went the poor chap's head bouncing along the road like a skittle ball, and the Baron would gallop on, roaring with laughter and repeating: " absolve te ", because, being holy knights. they could both destroy a man's body and save his immortal soul. That's how they treated tha aliens , but then how about their own people?
... After all he didn't care if the fish liked him or not, heliked to eat fish, and that's all that mattered.
What the Baron decided to do, he did. He didn't like to have his decisions Questioned , and so if you did not want to be thrown out of the window you did not stick your neck out crossing him.
... and when Reginald delivered his uncle's Baron's ) marriage proposal they were aghast - a bomb falling on their tea table would have frightened them less.. Honestly, it is a pity there were no bombs yt in those days, an inept comparison, I admit.
Baron was by no means pioua, but he was superstitious enough. He had often quarreled with the pastor in Wesenstein who rebuke him for lettin his dog carry his prayer book in its teeth, but at the same time he believed in sorcery and was afraid of goblins, which was why he never slept without a light in the room.
"You are in my power now, villain," Reginald spoke as he tied the Baron to a tree. " Your end has come. Don't trouble to beg or expect mercy from me., mercy you never granted anyone. You taught me to spell innocent blood as your whim took you, so don't be surprised that I want to drink my fill of yours for revenge. Remember how you took away my fortune and my freedom, how you ordered me about, your own nephew bullied like a menial, how you humiliated , hurt and despised me, and how you took away my bride and brought me to this pass, my peace of mind shattered and my once clear conscience in perdition. You villainously destroyed everything that is dear to the soul on earth and precious in heaven.. You threw me to the dungeon to starve. You tortured and tormented this angel who saved my life and whom you do not value or deserve. I had to fight it out, what else could do? Even to right a wrong the Lord forbids one to challenge his uncle. But great is the Lord! And you have fallen, and you shall die!"
You ought to have seen the Baron tucking in his tai, ,groveling and weeping. Wherever did he learn the words! Begging and whining!...
"Don't bear me malice , be generous , let me go! I'll give you everything you want, I'll do anything you say: I'll hold your stirrup for you, I'll get the Pope to give me a divorce and his dispensation for you to marry Louise. O Holy Brigatta! I'll donate half of my next loot to the church in Revel, I'll build a convent in your name with both winter and Summer church! I'll take monastic vows, I'll wear a hair shirt under my armour, I'll give give away to the paupers all my honestly and dishonestly acquired possessions!.. let me live a little longer, if only a year, a month, an hour!
"Not even five minutes" his nephew replied, drawing his bow. " The name of the Lord which, villain that you are, you always called upon in vain in order to opress the poor or wiggle free from the strong, won't help you now. Besides, a man who is such an arrant coward in the face of death, does not deserve to live."(pp. 42/61)
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