Ivan took up a handful of gold and threw it to the women. Heavens! The women rushed to pick it up, the peasants after them, snatching it out of each others’ hands. One old woman was nearly killed in the fray.
Ivan laughed.
“You fools!” he said. “Why did you hurt Granny? If you are not so rough I’ll give you some more.”
He scattered more gold. The whole village came up. Ivan emptied his basket. The people asked for more, but he said, “Not now; another time I’ll give you more. Now let us dance. You play some songs.”
The women began to play.
“I don’t like your songs,” Ivan said.
“Do you know any better ones?”
“You shall see in a moment.”
Ivan went into a barn, took up a sheaf, thrashed it, stood it up, and banged it on the floor, and said—
My slave bids you be a sheaf no more.
Every straw contained in you
Must turn into a soldier true.