ChapterII
The history of Adler was as strange as he himself. After leaving the elementary school he had learnt weaving, and by the time he was twenty he was earning quite good wages. He was a strong fellow with a high complexion, to all appearances clumsy, but in reality shrewd and able to work like a horse. His seniors were satisfied with him,though they often found fault with him for being too dissipated. Adler spent every Sunday enjoying himself with friends and with women; they would go on merry-go-rounds and see-saws, gorge themselves and drink together; he was always the leader of the party. He enjoyed himself so frantically that his companions were sometimes quite taken aback. But on week-days he worked quite as frantically. His powerful organism seemed to possess no soul; only nerves and muscles were at play. He did not like reading or art of any kind; he could not even sing.
No other thought possessed him than that of using his accumulated animal strength to the full without bounds or limits, except envy for the rich. He heard that there were large cities in the world, with beautiful women ready to be loved, with whom one drank champagne in gorgeously decorated rooms; that rich people rode fast horses to death, climbed mountains on which one might break one's neck or drop from exhaustion, and sailed their own yachts—and he longed to do all these things. He dreamt of scouring the world from pole to pole, of rushing on to battlefields thirsting for the enemy's blood; besides these things he meant to drink the choicest wines, eat the richest food, and travel with a whole harem. But how was all this going to happen if he spent all his earnings, and even raninto debt? Then suddenly an unusual thing happened.
A fire broke out on the second floor of one of the factory buildings. All the workpeople had got away safely except two women and a boy on the fourth floor. These were only noticed after a time, when the flames were bursting forth from all parts of the building. Nobody thought of going to the rescue; this induced the mill-owner to shout to the crowd: "Three hundred thalers to anyone who rescues them!"
The noise and excitement increased. The people encouraged one another to the venture, but did nothing, while the victims held out their arms in despair, entreating for help.
Then Adler stepped forward. He asked for a rope and a ladder with hooks, tied the rope round his waist, and approached the burning building. The crowd drew back in astonishment; they wondered how he meant to reach the fourth floor. He hooked the ladder to the broad cornices of each floor above him and ran up it like a cat. The flames singed his hair and clothes, thick smoke enveloped him like a blanket. But he climbed higher and higher, hanging like a spider over the flames and the chasm below. When he reached the fourth floor the crowd shouted and applauded. Adler fixed the ladder to the parapet on the roof, and, with surprising skill for a youth so clumsy and heavy, carried the people, whowere half dead with fright, one after the other on to the roof. As one wall of the building had no windows, Adler let the rescued people down on that side with the help of the rope, and finally slid down himself. When he reached the ground, burnt and with bleeding hands, the crowd lifted him upon their shoulders.
As a reward for this almost unparalleled bravery, Adler received the gold medal from the Government, and a rise in wages as well as the three hundred thalers from the mill-owner.
This became a turning-point in his life. Finding himself in possession of such a large sum, a desire for money grew in him. He did not value it because he had risked his life for it, or because it reminded him that he had saved the life of others. To him it simply represented a sum of three hundred thalers. What a time he might have if he spent three hundred thalers on enjoying himself! But if he first increased it to a thousand he might have a still better time. Adler gave up his old dissipated habits and became niggardly and a usurer. He started lending his friends money for short terms, but at high interest; and as he worked hard besides, and was getting on fast, after a few years he possessed, not three hundred, but three thousand thalers. All this was done with the idea that when he had amassed a considerable sum he would enjoy himself like a rich man. But—as the sum increased, hedecided on ever new limits, towards which he advanced with the same determination as before.
While striving towards this "ideal" of the greatest possible self-indulgence, he lost his sensual instincts, as a matter of fact. He spent his gigantic strength in hard work, suppressed his dreams, and fixed his thoughts on one thing only, and that was money. In the beginning the money had represented the means to another end, but by degrees even this disappeared, and his whole soul was filled with the desire for work and money.
When he was forty years old he possessed fifty thousand thalers gained by real hard work, determination, uncommon shrewdness, meanness and usury. He then went to Poland, where, he had heard, industry could be turned to the greatest profit, and started a small cotton-mill. He married a rich heiress, who died after a year in giving birth to a son, Ferdinand; and having her money to work with, Adler set out to become a millionaire. His new home proved a veritable land of promise, for he was well trained in his exhausting business and in the race for money, and found himself among people who let themselves be exploited: some because they had no money; others because they had come by it too easily and had too much, or they were not shrewd enough, or again because they tried to be cleverer than they were. Adler despised these people who possessed neither the most elementary economicqualities nor the strength to carry through their aims. Having surveyed his ground thoroughly, he knew how to make capital out of it. So his fortune grew, and people thought that the successful manufacturer was backed up by money from Germany.
With the birth of Ferdinand a new feeling awoke in Adler's stony heart—a feeling of unbounded and eternal love. He carried the motherless baby about in his arms, and even used to take him to the mill with him, where the frightened child got blue in the face with screaming. When he grew bigger, the father satisfied all his wishes, stuffed him with sweets, surrounded him with servants, and gave him sovereigns to play with.
The more the child developed, the more he loved him. Ferdinand's games reminded him of his own childhood, of his own instincts and dreams. He pictured to himself that it would be his son who would enjoy life and reap the real benefit of the money. Ferdinand would reach the goal of his own desires, not yet extinct, for distant travels, dangerous expeditions and expensive tastes.
"Only let him be grown up," the father thought, "then I will sell the mill and we will go out into the world together; he will enjoy himself, and I shall look on and see that he comes to no harm."
As a human being cannot give to others more than he himself possesses, Adler gave to his sonan iron constitution, selfish propensities, money, and an unbounded desire for enjoyment. He developed no higher instincts in him. Neither father nor son had any understanding for the true values of life; they cared nothing for beauty in Nature or in Art, and they both despised their fellow-men.
In the social life of the community, where every unit is consciously or unconsciously tied by a thousand bonds of sympathy and fellow-feeling, these two stood alone. The father loved money above all things, and his son above money; the son liked his father, but loved only himself and the things which satisfied his instincts.
The boy had his tutors, and went to school for a few years. He learnt several languages, was a fair talker and a good dancer, and dressed in good taste. As he got on easily with people when they put no obstacles in his way, was witty and spent money lavishly, he was popular; though Boehme, who looked at things from a different point of view, maintained that the boy knew very little and was on the wrong track. Ferdinand was a Don Juan even in his seventeenth year; in his eighteenth he was expelled from school. A year later he had incurred debts at cards, and at twenty he went abroad. In spite of large sums allowed him by his father, he ran into debt to the tune of sixty thousand roubles. He had thus indirectly brought about the needfor "economy" at the factory, and caused himself and his father to be cursed by the workpeople.
During his few years' absence from home, Ferdinand had climbed Alpine glaciers and Vesuvius, had been up in a balloon, and allowed himself to be bored for a few weeks in London, where houses are built of red brick and there are no amusements on Sundays. But the longest and gayest time he had spent in Paris.
He did not often write to his father; only when a stronger impression than usual touched his iron nerves he reported it to him in detail. These letters therefore were great events in Adler's life. The old mill-owner read them again and again, and enjoyed every word of them; they revived in him the ardent dreams of long ago. To go up in a balloon or look down into the crater of a volcano; to join in a cancan or give a woman champagne baths; to lose or win hundreds of roubles at one throw—had these not been the ideals of his life? Did not Ferdinand even surpass them? Under the influence of these letters, sketched in the excitement of first impressions, the habit of dreaming came back to this sternly realistic mind. At times he distinctly visualized what he read, investing it with an almost poetic fancy, but the vision fled before the rhythmic throb of the engines and power-looms. Adler had only one longing, one hope and faith—toamass a million, sell his mill, and go away with his son to see the world.
"He will enjoy himself, and I shall look on all day long."
Pastor Boehme was not at all in favour of this programme, worthy of the corrupt Elders of Sodom and Gomorrah, or the Roman Empire.
"When you have come to the end of the money and the pleasure, what will you do then?"
"Ah, but money like ours does not come to an end," the mill-owner would reply.
ChapterIII
The day for Ferdinand's return had arrived. Adler got up at five o'clock in the morning according to his custom, drank his coffee at eight from his large china mug, inscribed with the motto: "Mit Gott für König und Vaterland," and visited the factory. At eleven he sent the carriage and a luggage cart to the station, and then sat down in the portico and waited, his face as apathetic and dull as usual. From time to time he looked at his watch. The sun was hot; the scent of mignonette and acacia from the courtyard mingled with the pungent smell of smoke from the factory. The sky was clear and the air quite still. Adler wiped the perspiration from his face, and kept changing his position on the iron seat. The old mill-owner did not eathis lunch at twelve, and did not drink his beer out of the big pot with the pewter lid, as he had done every day for forty years.
At one o'clock the carriage with Ferdinand arrived, followed by the empty cart. Ferdinand was a tall, rather thin, but strongly built young man with fair hair and blue eyes. He wore a Scotch cap with ribbons and a light circular cape. As soon as he saw him, the mill-owner drew up his huge figure to its full height, and holding out his arms and giving one of his big laughs, exclaimed:
"Well, Ferdinand, how are you?"
The son jumped out of the carriage, embraced his father and kissed him on both cheeks.
"Has it been raining here, that you have your trousers turned up?" he said.
The father glanced at his trousers.
"Ha, ha! How the rascal notices everything!" he roared. "Johann! Lunch!"
He took his son's cape and travelling bag, and gave him his arm as if he were a lady. Looking back into the courtyard, he asked: "Why, the cart is empty! Why haven't you brought your luggage from the station?"
"My luggage? Why, father, do you think I am married and drag about boxes and portmanteaux with me? My things are in the dressing-bag; besides the fittings, there are a couple of shirts and a few pairs of gloves—that's all."
He talked vivaciously and in a loud voice, and laughed much. Pressing his father's hand several times, he continued: "Well, and how are you, father? What's the news? I am told you are doing very well with your piqués and dimities.... Let us sit down."
They clinked their glasses and finished their lunch quickly. When they had retired to the study, Ferdinand said, lighting a cigar:
"I must introduce the French way of living here, and especially the French way of cooking."
The father made a grimace.
"Why? Isn't the German cuisine good enough?"
"The Germans are pigs!"
"What?" said the old man.
"I say the Germans are pigs," laughed the son. "They neither know how to eat nor how to enjoy themselves."
"Well," interrupted the father, "and what are you?"
"I? I am a human being—in other words, a citizen of the world."
That his son should call himself cosmopolitan mattered little to Adler, but he was much hurt by the wholesale relegation of Germans to the class of unclean animals.
"I thought, my dear Ferdinand, that you might have learnt some sense for the sixty thousand roubles you have spent."
The son flung away his cigar and fell on his father's neck.
"What an excellent father you are!" he exclaimed, kissing him. "What a fine example of a real, stereotyped, conservative Baron! Well, don't frown—cheer up! Come, don't look so glum!"
He seized him by his hands and drew him into the middle of the room. Tapping his chest, he said:
"What a chest! ... what calves! If I had a young wife, I should know who to be jealous of. And you really mean to say all the same that you agree with these dead and stale theories? 'The devil take the Germans and their cookery!' That is a motto worthy of the age and of strong men."
"You must be crazy," interrupted the father, somewhat pacified. "But what are you if you have ceased to be a German?"
"I?" replied Ferdinand with mock seriousness. "Among Germans I am a Polish nobleman, Adler von Adlersdorf; among Frenchmen I am a republican and a democrat."
Such was Ferdinand's first meeting with his father, and such were the spiritual gains of his stay abroad, paid for with sixty thousand roubles.
On the same day father and son drove over to see Pastor Boehme. The mill-owner introduced Ferdinand to him as a converted sinner who hadspent much money and gained much experience for it. The pastor tenderly embraced his godson and held up to him as an example his son, Józef, who was working hard, and would continue to work to the end of his life. Ferdinand replied that work was really the only thing that gave human beings the right to exist. He added that he himself had been a little inconsiderate in spending his life among the people of a nation which boasted of its levity and idleness. Finally he asserted that one Englishman worked as much as two Frenchmen or three Germans, and that he had for this reason lately acquired a great respect for the English. Adler was astonished at his son's earnestness and the sincerity of his conviction, and Boehme remarked that young wine must ferment and that his experienced eye could detect a change for the better in Ferdinand, which was worth more than the expenditure of sixty thousand roubles. After these solemn words the old people, with the addition of the Frau Pastor, sat down to a bottle of hock, and talked of their children.
"You know, dear Gottlieb," said the pastor, "I am beginning to admire Ferdinand. From being a young windbag of a fellow he has now become averus vir. He has experience and judgment, and knows himself too."
"Oh yes," confirmed the Frau Pastor, "he reminds me altogether of our Józio. Do youremember, father, when Józio was here last vacation he said the same thing about the English? Dear boy!"
And the kind, thin lady sighed and pulled at the bodice of her black dress, which seemed to have been made in expectation of greater corpulence.
Ferdinand meanwhile was walking in the garden with Annette, the pretty daughter of the pastor. They had known each other from childhood, and the young girl had greeted the companion, whom she had not seen for so long, warmly and even enthusiastically. They walked about together for nearly an hour; but as the day was very hot, Annette had suddenly complained of a headache and gone up to her room, and Ferdinand returned to the old people. He was sulky and did not talk much. This did not astonish the pastor and his wife. A young man would naturally prefer the society of a young girl. Soon after Adler and his son returned home, and Ferdinand informed his father that he would have to go to Warsaw the next day.
"What for?" asked his father. "Have you got tired of home in eight hours?"
"Not in the least; only, you see, I need shirts and some suits, and also a carriage in which I can pay visits in the neighbourhood."
These reasons did not seem conclusive to the elder man. He said that the housekeeper could go to Warsaw to order the clothes; and if hebought a carriage, he would like to buy it himself from a carriage-builder of his acquaintance. It was difficult to agree about the clothes, but it was finally settled that a suit should be sent to the tailor as a pattern. Ferdinand did not look at all pleased at this.
"I suppose you keep a riding horse?"
"No; what good would it be to me?" replied the mill-owner.
"Well, but I must have one, and I hope you will at least not refuse me this?"
"Of course not."
"I should like to go into the town to-morrow to see if one of the nobility has a good horse for sale. You won't object to that?"
"Not in the least."
By ten o'clock in the morning Ferdinand had left home to go into the town, and a few minutes later Boehme's cart and horse drew up in the courtyard. The pastor seemed unusually excited. When he hurried into the room, there were two flushed spots between his whiskers and his long nose. As soon as he saw Adler, he called out:
"Is Ferdinand at home?"
Adler was astonished, and noticed that his friend's voice was trembling.
"Why? What do you want Ferdinand for?" he asked.
"The scoundrel! He's a bad lot! Do you know what he said to Annette yesterday?"
Adler's face showed that he neither knew nor suspected anything.
"He actually," continued the pastor, getting still more excited, "he asked her...." He broke off, and exclaimed indignantly: "The insolence! The shame of it!"
"What is the matter with you?" asked Adler, growing anxious. "What did he say to her?"
"He asked her to leave the window of her room open for him at night."
The poor pastor, from the excess of his feelings, flung his panama hat on the floor.
In matters which had nothing to do with the manufacture and sale of cotton goods Adler took a long time to think. The chord that would have been touched by the wrong done to the girl was missing in his heart; but he had a feeling of friendship for the pastor, and starting from this basis and reasoning phlegmatically and logically, he came to the conclusion that, if the young girl had listened to the proposal, Ferdinand would have to marry her. In any case he would have to marry her; the old man saw no other way out of it.
This then was the end of it! A few hours after his arrival, and a few minutes after his excellent speech about his improvement, Ferdinand had put himself into such a position that he, the son of a millionaire, would have to marry a dowerless girl—the pastor's daughter! Insteadof enjoying life at his side, and seeing him take the best of what money, youth and unrestrained freedom could give, he would now have to marry the boy to this girl.
It was only after the nervous old Boehme had begun to cry in his anger that Adler's wrath burst out in words.
"He is a scoundrel, that fellow!" he shouted. "A week ago I paid sixty thousand roubles for him, and now he extorts more money from me and behaves like this on the top of it all!"
He lifted his hands and shook them like Moses when he threw down the stone tablets on the heads of the worshippers of the golden calf.
"I will thrash him!" roared the mill-owner.
Seeing his excitement, and guessing that a stick in Adler's hand might have deplorable results, the pastor pacified him.
"My dear Gottlieb, that is quite unnecessary. Leave it to me, and I will tell Ferdinand either not to come to our house, or to behave in a decent and Christian way."
"Johann!" shouted the manufacturer, and when the footman appeared he continued without softening his voice: "Send to the town at once for Ferdinand. I will flog the scoundrel!"
The footman looked amazed and frightened, but the pastor gave him a knowing look, and the sagacious Johann went out.
"Dear Gottlieb," said Boehme, "Ferdinand istoo old to be flogged with a stick, or even to be reprimanded too violently. Excessive severity will not only fail to improve him, but may cause him to lay hands on his own life; he is an ambitious boy."
This remark had a sudden effect on Adler. He opened his eyes wide and fell back into a chair.
"What is that you are saying, Martin?" he gasped. "Johann! Water!"
Johann brought the water, and the old man calmed down by degrees. He gave no more orders to fetch Ferdinand.
"Yes, the madcap might do such a thing," he whispered in depression, and dropped his head on his chest.
This strong and energetic old man understood that his son had taken the wrong turning and ought to be led back, but he did not know how to do it.
Late at night Ferdinand returned home in an excellent temper. He looked for his father in all the rooms, left the doors open, and beat a tattoo on tables and chairs with his walking-stick, singing in a loud and false baritone:
"Allons, enfants de la patrie...."
He reached the study and stood before his father, with his Scotch cap perched on the back of his head, his waistcoat unbuttoned, and smellingof wine; sparks of mirth, untempered by reason, were burning in his eyes. When he came to the line
"Aux armes, citoyens!"
his enthusiasm was such that he flourished his cane over his father's head.
The old man was not accustomed to people who waved sticks over him. He sprang up from his chair, and looking fiercely at his son, cried: "You are drunk, you scoundrel!"
Ferdinand stepped back and said coolly: "Please don't call me a scoundrel, father; if I get accustomed to being called such names at home, it might not make the slightest difference to me if anyone else called me or my father these names. One can get accustomed to anything."
The moderate tone and clear exposition did not fail to impress the cotton-spinner.
"You are without honour," he said after a while; "you wanted to seduce old Boehme's daughter."
"Did you think it likely I should try to seduce the mother?" asked Ferdinand in a tone of astonishment.
"Stop these bad jokes," the father said angrily; "the pastor has been here to-day, and requests that you do not set foot in his house again. He refuses to have anything to do with you."
"What a pity!" Ferdinand laughed, throwing his cap down on a pile of papers, and himself atfull length upon the sofa. "He is really doing me the greatest favour by releasing me from those dull visits. They are a queer lot. The old man believes that he is living among cannibals, and is always converting somebody or rejoicing at somebody's conversion. The old woman has nothing but water on the brain, in which that learned snail, Józio, swims about. The daughter is sacred like an altar at which only pastors are allowed to officiate. When she has had two children, she will be a skeleton like her mother, and then I congratulate her husband. How dreadfully dull and pedantic all these people are!"
"Very well, they may be pedantic," said his father; "but if you had been with them you would not have squandered sixty thousand roubles."
Ferdinand had just started a yawn, but did not finish it. He sat up on the sofa and looked sorrowfully at his father.
"I see, father, you will never forget those few thousand roubles."
"Certainly I shan't forget them," shouted the old man. "How can a man in his right mind spend so much money for devil knows what? I was going to tell you that yesterday."
Ferdinand took his feet off the sofa, smacked his knee with his hand, and feeling that his father's anger did not go very deep, began:
"My dear father, let us for once in our liveshave a reasonable talk. I suppose you do not look upon me any more as a child?"
"You are a monkey," the old man said abruptly. His heart was touched by his son's seriousness.
"Well then, father, as a man who looks below the surface of things, you probably understand, though you won't confess to it, that I am such as Nature and our family made me. Our family does not consist of such units as the pastor and his son. Our family was once upon a time given the name of 'Adler,'[24]not 'frog' or 'crab.' If you look at it even from the physical point of view, you can see that it consists of people with huge frames. It possesses a man who has gained millions and an excellent position in a strange country only through the work of his ten fingers. That shows that our family has imagination and strength."
Ferdinand said all this with true or feigned emotion, and his father was much impressed.
"Is it my fault," he went on, gradually raising his voice, "that I have inherited this imagination and this strength from my ancestors? I must live more fully and do more than a 'stone' or a 'flower,' or even an ordinary 'bird'—for I am an 'eagle.' I am not satisfied with a narrow corner; I must have the world. My strength requires that I should either have great obstacles to overcome and difficult circumstances to master,or else I must have plenty of dissipation. Otherwise I should burst. Men of temperament either wreck empires or become criminals. Bismarck smashed beer-mugs on the heads of the Philistines before he smashed up the Austrian and French Empires. He was then exactly what I am to-day. To rise to the surface and to be a true 'eagle,' I must have suitable circumstances; I am not living in my proper sphere now. I have nothing to fix my attention on, and nothing to wear out my strength; that is why I am so fast. If I weren't, I should die like an eagle in a cage. You have your aims in life; you order about hundreds of workmen, and set engines in motion; you have had a big fight to assert yourself against others and to get your money. I have not even got that pleasure. What is there for me to do?"
"Who prevents you from taking an interest in the factory, or ordering the people about and increasing our capital? That would be a better thing than to go and waste it."
"All right!" exclaimed Ferdinand, jumping up; "give me some of your authority, and I will set to work to-morrow. It will be with really hard work that my wings will grow. Well now, will you give over the management of the factory to me to-morrow? I will take it over, if it's only for something to do; I am tired of this empty life."
Had old Adler had tears to shed, he would have cried for joy, but he had to be satisfied withpressing his son's hand repeatedly. He had surpassed all his expectations. What a piece of luck that Ferdinand should wish to take over the management of the factory! In a few years their fortune would be doubled, and then they would go out into the world and look for a wider horizon for the young eagle.
The mill-owner slept badly that night. The next morning Ferdinand really went to the mill, and made the round of all the departments. The workmen looked at him with curiosity, and vied with one another in giving him information and carrying out his orders. The jolly, friendly young man, who was quite the opposite to his stern father, made a favourable impression on them. But all the same, at ten o'clock one of the foremen came to the office to complain that the young gentleman was flirting with his wife and behaving improperly with the workwomen.
"Nonsense!" said Adler.
In an hour's time the foreman of the spinning department came running in with a frightened face.
"Pan Adler," he shouted, "Pan Ferdinand has heard that the hands have had their wages reduced, and he is urging them to leave. He is repeating this in all the workrooms, and is telling the hands all sorts of strange things."
"Has the fellow gone out of his mind?" burst out the mill-owner.
He sent for his son immediately, and ran to meet him. They met in front of the warehouse, Ferdinand with a lighted cigar in his mouth.
"What! you are smoking in the factory? Throw that down at once!" and the old man took it away from him and stamped on it angrily.
"What do you mean? Am I not allowed to smoke a cigar? I—I?"
"Nobody is allowed to smoke inside the factory," bawled Adler. "You will set the place on fire. You are stirring up my workpeople. Get out of this!"
The encounter had many witnesses, and Ferdinand was offended.
"Oh, if you are going to treat me like this, I have done with you. Upon my honour, I won't set foot in your factory again. I have had enough of these pleasant home scenes."
He stamped on his cigar and went into the house without even looking at his father, who was panting hard with mingled feelings of anger and shame.
When they met again at lunch, old Adler said:
"Well, you need not trouble me with your help. I will give you a monthly allowance of three hundred roubles, a carriage, horses and servants, and you can do what you like, provided you promise me to keep away from the mill."
Ferdinand leaned his elbows on the table, and said:
"My dear father, let us talk like reasonable people. I cannot waste my life in this house. I have mentioned to you before that I am threatened with an illness called 'spleen,' and that the doctors have forbidden me to be bored. As our life here is very monotonous, I feel already that I am beginning to fail. I do not want to grieve you, but if I am condemned to death——"
His father was frightened.
"But I am going to give you three hundred roubles a month," he shouted.
Ferdinand made a contemptuous gesture.
"Well, say four hundred, then."
The son shook his head sadly.
"Six hundred—but the devil take you!" screamed Adler, banging the table with his fist. "I cannot give more; the mill economies cannot be strained any further. You will make me bankrupt."
"Well, well, I will try and live on six hundred a month," replied his son. "Oh, I wish my illness would——"
The wretch knew that it was not worth while going to Warsaw with such an income, but that here in the country he could be the king of the localjeunesse dorée, and for the present he was satisfied with his part. He was really a very reasonable young man for his age....
From that day onwards Ferdinand began to live very fast again, though on a smaller scalethan before. He paid visits to all the landowners in the neighbourhood. The more respectable among them did not receive him at all, or received him and did not return his call; for old Adler did not enjoy a good reputation, and his son was known as a ne'er-do-well. Nevertheless he succeeded in scraping up an acquaintance with several younger and elderly gentlemen of his own type, whom he met frequently in the little country town, or entertained ostentatiously at his father's house, where the cuisine and cellars greatly attracted them.
The old manufacturer would slip away during these festivities. Though the titles and perfect manners of some of Ferdinand's friends flattered his pride, yet on the whole he did not like these men, and would often say to his old book-keeper:
"If these gentlemen would pool their debts, we could build three factories the size of ours with the amount."
"A respectable set," whispered the obsequious book-keeper.
"Fools!" said Adler.
"That's what I mean," smiled the book-keeper submissively from under his shade.
Ferdinand spent whole nights playing cards and drinking. He had many love adventures, and acquired a bad reputation. Meanwhile the factory hands were ground down by more and more "economies." Fines were imposed forcoming late, for talking, for damages which were often purely imaginary. Those who were unable to do arithmetic had their wages simply reduced. They all cursed their employer and his son, for they saw the debauchery that was going on, and knew that they themselves were paying for it.
ChapterIV
Many years ago a certain nobleman had lived in the part of Poland to which we have introduced the reader, who was called a "crank" by his neighbours. He did not lead a dissipated life, and had married only when well advanced in years; but there was a stain upon his character—namely this: he indulged in teaching the peasants. He opened an elementary school where all the children were taught reading, writing and arithmetic, had religious instruction, and learnt a little tailoring and cobbling. Every boy had to learn to make simple suits, shirts and caps. All this formed the basis of the education. Afterwards he engaged a gardener, a blacksmith, a locksmith, a carpenter and a wheelwright, and the pupils now passed on to instruction in these trades, as well as to advanced arithmetic, geometry and drawing. The nobleman himself taught geography and history, read instructive books to the pupils, and told them countless anecdotes, all of which had the same moral—namely,that being honest, patient, industrious and thrifty, among other good qualities, gave a man the true value of a human being.
The neighbouring landowners complained that he was spoiling the peasants, and experts laughed because he taught the boys all the trades. But he shrugged his shoulders, and said that if there were more Robinson Crusoes on earth, forced to know something of all trades while they were young, there would be fewer ignoramuses, loafers, scoundrels, or slaves tied to one place.
"Besides," said the quaint old man, "this is a whim of mine, if you like that better. You breed particular kinds of dogs, cattle and horses; why shouldn't I breed a particular class of human beings?"
He died suddenly, and his relations inherited his property, ran through it in a few years, and the school was forgotten. But it had produced a certain number of men of great economic, intellectual and moral value, though none of these ever occupied prominent positions.
The nobleman's spirit would have rejoiced at his pupils' progress, for he had not brought them up to be geniuses, but to be useful, average citizens such as are always needed in the community. One of these pupils was Kazimierz Gosławski. He, too, had learnt various trades, but he took a special liking to two of them—those of blacksmith and locksmith. He couldalso draw a plan of an engine or a building, make mathematical calculations, prepare a wooden model of a foundry, and at a pinch make his own clothes and boots. The longer Gosławski lived, the more he appreciated his master's methods, and realized the practical importance of the anecdotes. He held his benefactor's memory sacred, and he and his wife and little daughter prayed for his soul every day. Gosławski had been working in the mechanical part of Adler's factory for seven years, and was the soul of the workshop. His earnings amounted to two and sometimes even to three roubles a day. There was a certain head-mechanic knocking about who drew a salary of fifteen hundred roubles a year, but he occupied himself more with factory scandals than with his own work.
In order to uphold his authority, this mechanic gave orders and explanations, but he did it in such a way that no one either understood them or attempted to carry them out; and this was a blessing for the factory, for had his mechanical ideas been realized in iron, steel and wood, the greater part of the engines would have had to go into the melting-pot.
It was only after Gosławski had found out the damage done to an engine, and put his hand to repairing it, that things went right again. More than once this simple locksmith had replaced parts of engines; unconsciously he had sometimesmade inventions without anyone knowing about it. If it had been known, the invention would have been put down to the genius of the head-mechanic, who always boasted of his achievements, and regretted that in this unintelligent Poland one had no chances of becoming director of several factories, no matter of what kind.
Adler had too keen an eye not to see Gosławski's value and the incompetence of his head-mechanic. But Gosławski was made of too dangerous a material to be given a place as independent manager, and the head-mechanic was a good scandal-monger; so he was kept in the foreground, and the other did the work. In this way everybody was satisfied, and the world at large never suspected that the well-known factory was really run by the brains of a "stupid Polish workman."
Gosławski was a man of medium height, with the coarse hands and bow-legs of a workman. When he was bending over his vice he was indistinguishable from the others; but when he looked up from under his mop of dark hair, his thin, pale face showed that he was an intellectually developed human being with a nervous disposition. Yet his calmness and the look in his thoughtful grey eyes proved that reason prevailed over his temperament.
He talked neither too much nor too little, and never too loudly. Sometimes he got animated, but never let himself be carried away by excitement;and he knew how to listen, looking attentively and intelligently all the while into the speaker's eyes. Only to factory scandals he listened with half an ear and without interrupting his work. "What is the good of these things?" he used to say. But he would interrupt his most important work to listen to explanations coming within the range of his profession. He kept himself a little aloof from his fellow-workmen, though he was always friendly and ready to give advice, or even help, in small jobs. Yet he would never ask anybody's help for himself, for he had the same respect for a man's knowledge or time that he had for his money. The aim of his life was to establish a smith's workshop of his own. For this reason he hoarded up his earnings; he did not trust his money to the bank, and did not like to lend it to his fellow-workmen: rather would he give away a rouble or two now and then. For he was not mean: both he and his wife had plenty of clothes, plain but good, and on Sundays he would not begrudge himself a glass of beer or even a glass of wine. By means of this reasonable economy he had saved about eighteen hundred roubles, and was now looking about for the loan of a small building on some landowner's estate, in which he could set up his workshop. In exchange he would give preference to the landowner's orders. These arrangements are often made between a landowner and his smith, andGosławski had a place of this kind in view for Michaelmas.
His earnings in the mill were rather uncertain. When a new line was tried in the manufacture of cotton goods (and in this Gosławski was unequalled), he was very well paid by the piece; but when the experiment had turned out a success, and he had taught others how to do the work, his pay was reduced by half, or even three-quarters; sometimes he was only paid the tenth part. To keep the level of his wages higher, he would often work overtime, come early and stay late.
When the workmen complained that the boss was cheating them, Gosławski replied that they could not wonder, for they were cheating him in return. But sometimes he would lose patience, and mutter between his teeth:
"Vile German thief!"
Gosławski's wife wished to help her husband by working in the mill too, but he gave her a good scolding.
"You had better look after the child and the dinner! For every rouble you earn at the mill, two are lost at home."
He knew quite well, however, that she would earn more and the home would lose less; but he was ambitious, and did not want the wife of a future master to mix with common factory women. He was a good husband; sometimes hegrumbled that the dinner was unpunctual or badly cooked, that the child was dirty, or that his shirt had been made too blue. But he never made a scene or raised his voice. On Sundays he took his wife to church, a few versts off, and when it was fine he carried his little girl there too. Whenever he went into the town, he bought a toy for the child and some little piece of finery for his wife. He loved his little girl, though he was sorry not to have a son.
"What is the good of a girl?" he said. "You bring her up for another, and have to provide her with a dowry into the bargain to get her settled. With a son it is different: he is a support to you in your old age, and might take over the workshop."
"Just you get the workshop started, and then the son will come too," his wife replied.
"Oh, well, you have been saying that for three years; there is not much hope of you, as far as I can see," said the locksmith.
His wife was, however, not boasting without reason this time; for in the sixth year of their marriage, about the time when young Adler returned from abroad, she had given birth to a son. Gosławski was beside himself with joy. He spent about thirty roubles on the christening, and bought his wife a new dress, not counting the expenses of the confinement. His savings were thereby diminished by several hundred roubles, but he resolved to make them up before Michaelmas.
Then, to his misfortune, "economy" was introduced into the mill. This time Gosławski cursed with the others, but he went on working with redoubled zeal. He went to the mill at five o'clock in the morning, and did not come back till eleven o'clock at night, too tired to greet his wife or kiss the children. He fell on to the bed in his clothes, and slept like a log.
Such extreme effort annoyed his fellow-workmen; and his friend Źaliński, the engineer, a fat and quick-tempered man, said to him: "Kazik, why the devil are you toadying up to the boss and spoiling other people's chances? When they went to him yesterday to complain about the wages, he said to them: 'Do as Gosławski does; then you will have enough.'"
Gosławski excused himself.
"You see, my dear fellow, my wife has been ill, and I have had very heavy expenses. I would like to make up as much as I can, because, you know, I want to start on my own. What else am I to do since that dog has reduced the wages? I must go on slaving like this, though I have a pain in my side and my head swims."
"Bah!" said Źaliński; "I suppose you will take it out of the journeymen in your own workshop."
Gosławski shook his head.
"I don't want to profit by doing wrong. I don't give what is mine for nothing, but I won't take what belongs to others, either."
And he went off to his work, which, though he was used to it, had worn him out lately to such an extent that he was not able to collect his thoughts.
"If only I can start on my own," he thought, "I shall forget all this."
But the task was too great. To feed a family, to save all he could, to make up the expenses caused by his wife's confinement, and to pay for young Adler's travels into the bargain, went beyond the strength of any human being.
He looked sad and got still thinner and paler; sometimes the perspiration would break out all over him, and he would drop his hands on his vice and wonder why his brain, usually so quick, felt quite empty and dark. Possibly he would have slackened off if he had not seen in the darkness a fiery signboard:
GOSŁAWSKI'S MECHANICAL WORKSHOP....
Get on! Only three months more!
Meanwhile fortune again smiled on Adler. The demand for his goods, which were excellent, was greater than ever, and in July double the amount of orders came in. He accepted them all after consulting his confidential clerks, and bought up cotton with all his available capital. The hands were told that they would have to work until nine o'clock in the evening, and they were to be paid double for overtime. Moreworkshops were added, and the question of how to make use of the Sundays arose. With regard to this Adler had his plan ready. Sunday work was to be paid at a double rate in the beginning, but in a measure, as the hands got used to it, the pay would be reduced.
If everything went all right, Adler calculated that the profits of the current year would make it possible for him to sell the factory, for which he would easily find a purchaser, and to take his millions and his son abroad.
Thus both the workman and the principal were simultaneously approaching the realization of their hopes.
The increased activity in the mill affected the engineering workshop in the first place. New hands were taken on, the compulsory hours were extended until nine, and overtime work until midnight. The first two hours of overtime were paid double, the next three times as much. A stricter control was introduced, and if anyone left off work before time, so much was deducted from his wages that his profits were practically reduced to nothing. The hands were weary in consequence, especially Gosławski, who, as the most expert, was obliged to work until midnight.
Even he himself felt that he could not go on at this rate, and asked for relief. The millionaire agreed, and proposed a new arrangement. Gosławski was in future to receive a fixed salary, andwork with his hands only at those parts of the machinery which required the greatest exactitude. His chief business would be to supervise the general run of the work and direct others. He would in reality be the head of the workshop, and while doing the work of a simple workman receive the pay of a head-mechanic.
No German would have agreed to such a proposal, but when it was first made it flattered Gosławski. He soon realized, however, that he was being exploited again, for he had to work physically as hard as before, and had in addition a greater strain on his mind. All day long he had to rush from the vice to the anvil, and from the anvil to the lathe, and was importuned besides by his fellow-workmen, who thought that Gosławski was there not only to give them information, but to do their work for them as well.
By the end of June he looked like an automaton. He never smiled, and hardly ever talked about anything that was not connected with his work. He, who had been so particular about tidiness, began to neglect his appearance. He ceased to go to church on Sundays, and slept till midday instead. In his relations with others he became irritable. His one pleasure was to sleep; he slept like a man in convalescence. He became a little more animated perhaps, when he kissed his little son "Good-morning" or "Good-night."
Gosławski himself quite understood the statehe was in. He knew that the hard work was wearing him out, but he saw no way of freeing himself from it. The contract with the landowner could not be signed before August, and he could not take possession of the workshop till October. If he left the mill he would have to live on his ready money, and spend in a few months some hundreds of roubles which were indispensable for the new start. The only thing to be done was to stick to his post and strain his strength to the utmost. Perhaps a week's rest after he had moved into his own household would restore the disturbed balance of his organism.
But he was sick of the mill. He carried a little calendar about with him on which he crossed out the days as they passed: only two months and a half now; sixty-five days; two months only!...