'And I thought the same. But now—'
Waving his hand, the old man finished speaking in a low voice, and his last words were overpowered by the roar of the wind. The night was dark. Clouds of fine rain swept past from time to time; the wood close by was black as a pall. The gale whistled round the corners of the room, and howled in the chimney like a dog. Thelamp, placed high above the window to prevent the wind from extinguishing it, threw a flood of bright light into the room. But Bartek, who was standing close to it under the window, was plunged in darkness.
And it was perhaps better the prisoners should not see his face, for strange things were taking place in this peasant's mind. At first he had been filled with astonishment, and had stared hard at the prisoners, trying to understand what they were saying. So these men had set out to beat the Germans to benefit Poland, and he had beaten the French, in order that Poland might benefit! And to-morrow these two men would be shot! How was that? What was a poor fellow to think about it? But if only he could hint it to them, if only he could tell them that he was their man, that he pitied them! He felt a sudden catch in his throat. What could he do for them? Could he rescue them? Thenhewould be shot! Good God! what was happening to him? He was so overcome by pity that he could not remain in the room.
A strange intense longing suddenly came upon him till he seemed somewhere far off at Pognębin. Pity, hitherto an unknown guest in his soldier's heart, cried to him from the depth of his soul: 'Bartek, save them, they are your brothers!' and his heart, torn as never before, cried out for home,for Magda, for Pognębin. He had had enough of the French, enough of this war, and of battles! The voice sounded clearer and clearer: 'Bartek, save them!' Confound this war! The woods showed dark through the open window, moaning like the Pognębin pines, and even in that moan something called out, 'Bartek, save them!'
What could he do? Should he escape to the wood with them, or what? All his Prussian discipline recoiled in aversion at the thought. In the Name of the Father and the Son! He need but cross himself at it! He,—a soldier, and desert? Never!
All the while the wood was moaning more loudly, the wind whistling more mournfully.
The elder prisoner suddenly whispered, 'That wind—like the Spring at home.'
'Leave me in peace!' the young man said in a Pognębin voice.
After a moment, however, he repeated several times:
'At home, at home, at home! God! God!'
Deep sighs mingled with the listening wind, and the prisoners lay silent once more.
Bartek began to tremble feverishly. There is nothing so bad for a man as to be unable to tell what is amiss with him. It seemed to Bartek as if he had stolen something, and were afraid of being taken in charge. He had a clear conscience,nothing threatened him, but he was certainly terribly afraid of something. Indeed, his legs were trembling, his rifle had grown dreadfully heavy, and something—like bitter sobs—was choking him. Were these for Magda, or for Pognębin? For both, but also for that younger prisoner whom it was impossible to help.
At times Bartek fancied he must be asleep. All the while the storm raged more fiercely round the house, and the cries and voices multiplied strangely in the whistling of the wind.
Suddenly every hair of Bartek's head stood on end under his helmet. For it seemed as if somewhere from out of the dark, rain-clad depths of the forest somebody were groaning, and repeating: 'At home, at home, at home!'
Bartek started back, and struck the floor with the butt end of his rifle to wake himself. He regained consciousness somehow and looked up. The prisoners lay in the corner, the lamp was burning brightly, the wind was howling,—all was in order.
The light fell full on to the face of the younger prisoner—a child's or girl's face. As he lay there with closed eyes, and straw under his head, he looked as if he were already dead.
Never in his life had Bartek been so wrung with pity! Something distinctly gripped his throat, and an audible cry was wrung from his breast.
At that moment the elder prisoner turned wearily on to his side, and said, 'Good-night, Władek.' Silence followed. An hour passed.
The wind played like the Pognębin organ. The prisoners lay silent. Suddenly the younger prisoner, raising himself a little by an effort, called, 'Karol?'
'What?'
'Are you asleep?'
'No.'
'Listen! I am afraid. Say what you like, but I shall pray.'
'Pray, then.'
'Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come.'
Sobs suddenly interrupted the young prisoner's words, yet the broken voice was still heard: 'Thy—will—be—done!'
'Oh Jesu!' something cried in Bartek, 'Oh Jesu!'
Impossible! He could stand it no longer.—Another moment, and exclaiming 'Lord, I am only a man!' he had leapt through the window into the wood. Let come what may! Suddenly measured steps were heard echoing from the direction of the hall: it was the patrol, the Sergeant with it. They were changing the guard!
Next day Bartek was drunk all day from early morning. The following day likewise....
But fresh advances, fighting, and marches took place during the days following, and I am glad to say that our hero regained his equilibrium. A certain fondness for the bottle, in which it is always possible to find pleasure and at times forgetfulness, remained with him after that night, however. For the rest, in battle he was more terrible than ever; victory followed in his wake.
Some months hadpassed, and the Spring was now well advanced. The cherry trees at Pognębin were in blossom and the young corn was sprouting abundantly in the fields. One day Magda, seated in front of the cottage, was peeling some rotten potatoes for dinner, fitter for cattle than for human beings. But it was Spring-time, and poverty had visited Pognębin. That could be seen too by the saddened and worried look on Magda's face. Possibly in order to distract herself, the woman, closing her eyes, sang in a thin, strained voice:
Alas, my Jasieńko has gone to the war! he writes me letters;Alas, and I his wife write to him,—for I cannot see him.
The sparrows twittered in the cherry trees as if they were trying to emulate her. She stopped her song and gazed absently at the dog sleeping in the sun, at the road passing the cottage, and the path leading from the road through the garden and field. Perhaps Magda glanced at the path because it led across to the station and, as Godwilled, she did not look in vain that day. A figure appeared in the distance, and the woman shaded her eyes with her hand, but she could not see clearly, being blinded by the glare. Łysek woke up, however, raised his head, and giving a short bark, began to grow excited, pricking up his ears and turning his head from side to side. At the same moment the words of a song reached Magda indistinctly. Łysek sprang up suddenly and ran at full speed towards the newcomer. Then Magda turned a little pale.
'Is it Bartek,—or not?'
She jumped up so quickly that the bowl of potatoes rolled on to the ground: there was no longer any doubt; Łysek was bounding up to his shoulder. The woman rushed forward, shouting in the full strength of her joy: 'Bartek! Bartek!'
'Magda, here I am!' Bartek cried, throwing her a kiss, and hurrying towards her. He opened the gate, stumbled over the step so that he all but fell, recovered himself,—and they were clasped in one anothers' arms.
The woman began to speak quickly:
'And I had thought that you would not come back. I thought "they will kill him!"—How are you?—Let me see. How good to look at you! You are terribly thin! Oh Jesu! Poor fellow!—Oh, my dearest!... He has come back, come back!'
For one moment she tore herself from his neck and looked at him, then threw herself on to it again.
'Come back! The Lord be praised! Bartek, my darling! How are you? Go indoors! Franek is at school being teased by that horrid German! The boy is well. He's as dull in the upper storey as you are. Oh, but it was time for you to come back! I didn't know any more which way to turn. I was miserable, I tell you, miserable! This whole poor house is going into ruins. The roof is off the barn. How are you? Oh, Bartek! Bartek! That I should actually see you, after all! What trouble I have had with the hay!—The neighbours helped me, but they did it to help themselves! How are you?—Well? Oh, but I am glad to have you,—glad! The Lord watched over you. Go indoors. By God, it's like Bartek, and not like Bartek! What's the matter with you? Oh dear! Oh dear!'
At that instant Magda had become aware of a long scar running along Bartek's face across his left temple and cheek and down to his beard.
'It's nothing.—A Cuirassier did it for me, but I did the same for him. I have been in hospital.'
'Oh Jesu!'
'Why, it's a mere flea-bite.'
'But you are starved to death.'
'Ruhig!' answered Bartek.
He was in truth emaciated, begrimed and in rags:—a true conqueror! He swayed too as he stood.
'What's wrong with you? Are you drunk?'
'I—am still weak.'
That he was weak, was certain, but he was tipsy also. For one glass of vodka would have been sufficient in his state of exhaustion, and Bartek had drunk something like four at the station. The result was that he had the bearing of the true conqueror. He had not been like this formerly.
'Ruhig!' he repeated. 'We have finished the Krieg. I am a gentleman now, do you understand? Look here!' he pointed to his crosses and medals. 'Do you know who I am? Eh? Links! Rechts! Heu! Stroh! Halt!'
At the word, 'halt,' he gave such a shrill shout that the woman recoiled several steps.
'Are you mad?'
'How are you, Magda? When I say to you "how are you" then how are you? Do you know French, stupid? "Musiu, Musiu!" What is "Musiu?" I am a "Musiu," do you understand?'
'Man, what's up with you?'
'What's that to you! Was? "Doné diner," do you understand?'
A storm began to gather on Magda's brow.
'What rubbish are you jabbering? What'sthis,—you don't know Polish? That's all through those wretches. I said how it would be! What have they done to you?'
'Give me something to eat!'
'Be quick indoors.'
Every command made an irresistible impression on Bartek; hearing this 'Be quick' he drew himself up, held his hand stiffly to his side, and, having made a half-turn, marched in the direction indicated. He stood still at the threshold, however, and began to look wonderingly at Magda.
'Well, what do you want, Magda? What do...?'
'Quick! March!'
He entered the cottage, but fell over the threshold. The vodka was now beginning to go to his head. He started singing, and looked round the cottage for Franek, even saying 'Morgen, Kerl,' although Franek was not there. After that he laughed loudly, staggered, shouted 'Hurrah!' and fell full length on the bed. In the evening he awoke sober and rested, and welcomed Franek, then, having got some pence out of Magda, he took his triumphant way to the inn. The glory of his deeds had already preceded him to Pognębin, since more than one of the soldiers from other divisions of the same regiment, having returned earlier, had related how he had distinguished himself at Gravelotte and Sedan. Sonow when the rumour spread that the conqueror was at the inn, all his old comrades hastened there to welcome him.
No one would have recognized our friend Bartek, as he now sat at the table. He, formerly so meek, was to be seen striking his fist on the table, puffing himself out and gobbling like a turkey-cock.
'Do you remember, you fellows, that time I did for the French, what Steinmetz said?'
'How could we forget?'
'People used to talk about the French, and be frightened of them, but they are a poor lot—was? They run like hares into the lettuce, and run away like hares too. They don't drink beer either, nothing but strong wine.'
'That's it!'
'When we burnt a town they would wring their hands immediately and cry "Pitié, pitié,"[7]as if they meant they would give us a drink if we would only leave them alone. But we paid no attention to them.'
'Then can one understand their gibberish?' enquired a young farmer's lad.
'You wouldn't understand, because you are stupid, but I understand. "Doné di pę!"[8]Do you understand?'
'But what did you do?'
'Do you know about Paris? We had one battle after another there, but we won them all. They have no good commanders. People say so too. "The ground enclosed by the hedge is good," they say, "but it has been badly managed." Their officers are bad managers, and their generals are bad managers, but on our side they are good.'
Maciej Kierz, the wise old innkeeper of Pognębin, began to shake his head.
'Well, the Germans have been victorious in a terrible war; they have been victorious—but I always thought they would be. But the Lord alone knows what will come out of it for us.'
Bartek stared at him.
'What do you say?'
'The Germans have never cared to consider us much, anyhow, but, now they will be as stuck up as if there were no God above them. And they will illtreat us still more than they do already.'
'But that's not true!' Bartek said.
Old Kierz was a person of such authority in Pognębin that all the village always thought as he did, and it was sheer audacity to contradict him. But Bartek was a conqueror now, and an authority himself. All the same they gazed at him in astonishment, and even in some indignation.
'Who are you, to quarrel with Maciej? Who are you—?'
'What's Maciej to me? It isn't to such as he that I have talked, you see! Why, you fellows, I talked, didn't I, to Steinmetz—was? But let Maciej fancy what he likes. We shall be better off now.'
Maciej looked at the conqueror for a moment.
'You Blockhead!' he said.
Bartek struck his fist on the table, making all the glasses and pint-pots start up.
'Still, der Kerl da! Heu! Stroh!'
'Silence, no row! Ask the Priest or the Count, Blockhead.'
'Was the Priest in the war? Or was the Count there? But I was there. It's not true, boys. They'll know now how to respect us. Who won the battle? We won it, I won it. Now they'll give us anything we ask for. If I had wanted to become a land-owner in France, I should have stayed there. The Government knows very well who gave the French the best beating. And our regiment was the best. They said so in the military despatches. So now the Poles will get the upper hand;—do you see?'
Kierz waved his hand, stood up, and went out. Bartek had carried off the victory in the field of politics also. The young men remaining with him, regarded him as a perfect marvel. He continued:
'As if they wouldn't give me anything I want!If I don't get it, I should like to know who would! Old Kierz is a scoundrel, do you see? The Government commands you to fight, so you must fight. Who will illtreat me? The Germans? Is it likely?'
Here he again displayed his crosses and medals.
'And for whom did I beat the French? Not for the Germans, surely? I am a better man now than a German, for there's not one German as strong. Bring us some beer! I have talked to Steinmetz, and I have talked to Podbielski. Bring us some beer!'
They slowly prepared for their carouse.
Bartek began to sing:
Drink, drink, drink,As long as in my pocketStill the pennies chink!
Suddenly he took a handful of pence from his pocket.
'Beer! I am a gentleman now.—Won't you? I tell you in France we were not so flush of money;—there was little we didn't burn, and few people we didn't put a shot into!—God doesn't know which—of the French—.'
A tippler's moods are subject to rapid changes. Bartek unexpectedly raked together the money from the table, and began to exclaim sadly:
'Lord, have mercy on the sins of my soul!'
Then, propping both elbows on the table, and hiding his head in his hands, he was silent.
'What's the matter?' inquired one of the drinkers.
'Why was I to blame for them?' Bartek murmured sadly. 'It was their own look-out. I was sorry for them, for they were both in my hands. Lord! have mercy! One was as the ruddy dawn! next day he was as white as cheese. And even after that I still—Vodka!'
A moment of gloomy silence followed. The men looked at one another in astonishment.
'What is he saying?' one asked.
'He is settling something with his conscience.'
'A man must drink in spite of that war.'
He filled up his glass of vodka once or twice, then he spat, and his good humour unexpectedly returned.
'Have you ever stood talking to Steinmetz? But I have! Hurrah!—Drink! Who pays? I do!'
'You may pay, you drunkard,' sounded Magda's voice, 'but I will repay you! Never fear!'
Bartek looked at his wife with glassy eyes.
'Have you talked to Steinmetz? Who are you?'
Instead of replying to him, Magda turned to the interested listeners, and began to exclaim:
'Oh, you men, you wretched men, do you see the disgrace and misery I am in? He came back, and I was glad to welcome him as a good man, but he came back drunk. He has forgotten God,and he has forgotten Polish. He went to sleep, he woke up sober, and now he's drinking again, and paying for it with my money, which I had earned by my own work. And where have you taken that money from? Isn't it what I have earned by all my trouble and slavery? I tell you men, he's no longer a Catholic, he's not a man any more, he's bewitched by the Germans, he jabbers German, and is just waiting to do harm to people. He's possessed....'
Here the woman burst into tears; then, raising her voice an octave higher:—'He was stupid, but he was good. But now, what have they done to him? I looked out for him in the evening, I looked out for him in the morning, and I have lived to see him. There is no peace and no mercy anywhere. Great God! Merciful God!—If you had only left it alone,—if you had only remained German altogether!'
Her last words ended in such a wail, it was almost like a cadence. But Bartek merely said:
'Be quiet, or I shall do for you!'
'Strike me, hit my head, hit me now, kill me, murder me!' the woman screamed, and stretching her neck forward, she turned to the man.
'And you fellows, watch!—'
But the men were beginning to disperse. The inn was soon deserted, and only Bartek and his wife, with her neck stretched forward, remained.
'Why do you stretch out your neck like a goose?' murmured Bartek. 'Go home.'
'Hit me!' repeated Magda.
'Well, I shan't hit,' replied Bartek, putting his hands into his pockets. Here the innkeeper, wishing to put an end to the quarrel, turned out one of the lights. The room became dark and silent. After a while Magda's shrill voice sounded through the darkness:
'Hit me!'
'I shan't hit,' replied Bartek's triumphant voice.
Two figures were to be seen going by moonlight from the inn to the cottage. One of them, walking in front, was sobbing loudly; that was Magda; after her, hanging his head and following humbly enough, went the victor of Gravelotte and Sedan.
Bartek went home so tipsy that for some days he was unfit for work. This was most unfortunate for all his household affairs, which were in need of a strong man to look after them. Magda did her best. She worked from morning till night, and the neighbours helped her as well as they could, but even so she could not make both ends meet, and the household was being ruined little by little. Then there were a few small debts to the German Colonist, Just, who, having at a favourable moment bought some thirteen acres of waste land at Pognębin, now had the best property in the whole village. He had ready money besides, which he lent out at sufficiently high interest. He lent it chiefly to the owner of the property, Count Jarzyński, who bore the nickname of the 'Golden Prince,' but who was obliged to keep up his house in a style of befitting splendour for that very reason. Just, however, also lent to peasants. For six months Magda had owed him some twenty thalers, part of which she had borrowedfor her housekeeping, and part to send to Bartek during the war. Yet that need not have mattered. God had granted a good harvest, and it would have been possible to repay the debt out of the incoming crop, provided that the hands and the labour were forthcoming. Unluckily Bartek could not work. Magda did not quite believe this, and went to the priest for help, thinking he might rouse her husband; but this was really impossible. When at all tired, Bartek grew short of breath and his wounds pained him. So he sat in front of the cottage all day long, smoking his clay pipe with the figure of Bismarck in white uniform and a Cuirassier's helmet, and gazed at the world with the drowsy eyes of a man still feeling the effects of bodily fatigue. He pondered a little on the war, a little on his victories, on Magda,—a little on everything, a little on nothing.
One day, as he sat thus, he heard Franek crying in the distance on his way home from school. He was howling till the echoes rang.
Bartek pulled his pipe out of his mouth.
'Why, Franek, what's the matter with you?'
'What's the matter?' repeated Franek, sobbing.
'Why are you crying?'
'Why shouldn't I cry, when I have had my ears boxed?'
'Who boxed your ears?'
'Who? Why, Herr Boege!'
Herr Boege filled the post of schoolmaster at Pognębin.
'And has he a right to box your ears?'
'I suppose so, as he did it.'
Magda, who had been hoeing in the garden, came through the hedge, and, with the hoe in her hand, went up to the child.
'What are you saying?' she asked.
'What am I saying—? If that Boege didn't call me a Polish pig, and give me a box on the ears, and say that just as they have beaten the French now, so they will trample us underfoot, for they are the strongest. And I had done nothing to him, but he had asked me who is the greatest person in the world, and I had said it was the Holy Father, but he boxed my ears, and I began to cry, and he called me a Polish pig, and said that just as they have beaten the French....'
Franek was beginning it all over again,—'and he said, and I said,'—but Magda covered his mouth with her hand, and she herself, turning to Bartek, exclaimed:—
'Do you hear? Do you hear? Go to the French war, then let a German beat your child like a dog!—Curse him! Go to the war, and let this Swabian kill your child!—You have your reward!... May....'
Here Magda, moved by her own eloquence, also began to cry to Franek's accompaniment. Bartek stared open-mouthed with astonishment, and could not bring out a single word, or comprehend in the least what had happened. How was this? And what of his victories?—He sat on in silence for some moments, then suddenly something leaped into his eyes, and the blood rushed to his face. With ignorant people astonishment, like terror, often turns to rage. Bartek sprang up suddenly, and jerked out through his clenched teeth:—
'I will talk to him!'
And he went out. It was not far to go; the school lay close to the church. Herr Boege was just standing in front of the verandah, surrounded by a herd of young pigs, to which he was throwing pieces of bread.
He was a tall man, about fifty years of age, still as vigorous as an oak. He was not particularly stout, but his face was very fat, and he had a pair of very protruding eyes which expressed courage and energy.
Bartek went up to him very quickly.
'German, why have you been beating my child?Was?' he asked.
Herr Boege took a few steps backwards, measured him with a glance without a shade of fear, and said phlegmatically:—
'Begone, Polish prize-fighter!'
'Why have you been beating my child?' repeated Bartek.
'I will beat you too, you low Polish scoundrel! I will show you who is master here. Go to the devil, go to the law,—begone!'
Bartek, having seized the schoolmaster by the shoulder, began to shake him roughly, crying in a hoarse voice:—
'Do you know who I am? Do you know who did for the French? Do you know who talked to Steinmetz? Why do you beat my child, you cursed Swabian dog?'
Herr Boege's protruding eyes glared no less than Bartek's, but Boege was a strong man, and he resolved to free himself from his assailant by a single blow. This blow descended with a loud smack on the face of the victor of Gravelotte and Sedan.
At that the man forgot everything. Boege's head was shaken from side to side with a swift motion recalling a pendulum, but with this difference that the shaking was alarmingly rapid. The formidable vanquisher of Turcos and Zouaves awoke in Bartek once more. Boege's twelve year old son, Oscar, a lad as strong as his father, ran in vain to his assistance. A short, but terrible struggle took place, in which the son fell to the ground, and the father felt himself lifted up into the air. Bartek, raising his hand, held him there,he himself scarcely knew how. Unluckily the tub of dishwater, which Herr Boege had been assiduously mixing for the pigs, stood near. Into this tub Herr Boege now capsized, and a moment later his feet were to be seen projecting from it, and kicking violently. His wife darted out of the house:—
'Help, to the rescue!'
The German colonists rushed from the houses near to their neighbour's assistance. Some of them fell on Bartek and began to belabour him with sticks and stones. In the general confusion which followed it was difficult to distinguish Bartek from his adversaries: some thirteen bodies were to be seen rolling round in a single mass, and struggling convulsively.
Suddenly, however, from out of this fighting mass Bartek burst forth like fury, making towards the hedge with all his might.
The Germans ran after him, but an alarming crack was heard in the hedge at the same moment, and Bartek's iron hands brandished a stout stick.
He returned raging and furious, holding the stick in the air: they all fled.
Bartek went after them, but luckily did not overtake anyone. Thus his rage cooled, and he began to retreat homewards. Ah! if only it had been the French he had been facing! His retreat would then have made immortal history.
As it was, he was being attacked by about a dozen people who, when they had reassembled, set on him afresh. Bartek retired slowly, like a wild boar pursued by dogs. He turned round now and then and stood still: then his pursuers stood still too. The stick had earned their complete respect.
They threw stones at him, nevertheless, one of which wounded Bartek in the forehead. The blood poured into his eyes, and he felt himself growing faint. He swayed once or twice, let go the stick, and fell down.
'Hurrah!' cried the Germans.
But by the time they reached him, Bartek had got up again: then they held back. This wounded wolf was still dangerous. Besides, he was now not far from the first cottage, and some labourers could be seen in the distance hurrying to the battlefield at full speed. The Germans retired to their houses.
'What has happened?' enquired the newcomers.
'I have been trying my hand a bit on the Germans,' Bartek answered. And he fainted.
It proved a serious affair. The German newspapers published flaming articles on the persecutions to which the peaceful German population was subjected at the hands of the barbarian and ignorant masses, who were roused by socialist agitation and religious fanaticism. Boege became a hero. He, the quiet, gentle schoolmaster, spreading the light of learning on the far borders of the Empire; he, the true missionary of culture amid barbarians, had fallen a first victim to the riot. It was fortunate that there were a hundred million Germans to stand up for him, who would never allow.... And so on.
Bartek did not know what a storm was brewing over his head. On the contrary, he was in good spirits; he was certain that he would win at the trial. For Boege had beaten his child, and had dealt him the first blow, and it had afterwards been he who had been attacked from behind! Surely he had a right to defend himself. They had also thrown a stone at his head,—actually thrown it at him, who had been mentioned in the daily despatches, who had won the battle of Gravelotte,had talked to Steinmetz himself, and received so many medals. It is true it never entered his head that the Germans did not know all this when they wronged him so greatly, any more than it occurred to him that Boege could substantiate his threat to Pognębin that the Germans would now trample it underfoot in the same way in which they, the Pognębinites, had so thoroughly beaten the French whenever they had had an opportunity. But as for himself, he was certain that public opinion and the Government would be in his favour. They would certainly know who he was, and what he had done during the war. If he was not a different man to what he thought him, Steinmetz would espouse his cause. Since Bartek was the poorer through the war, and his house in debt, they were, anyhow, not doing him justice.
All the same, the police from Pognębin rode up to Bartek's house. They had expected serious resistance, for as many as five appeared with loaded revolvers. They were mistaken; Bartek had not thought of offering any resistance. They told him to get into the carriage,—and he got in. Magda alone was desperate, persistently repeating:—
'Oh dear, what did you fight those French for? You will catch it now, poor fellow, that you will!'
'Be quiet, stupid!' Bartek answered, andsmiled quite cheerfully to the passers-by as he drove along.
'I'll show them who it is they have offended!' he cried from the carriage.
And, covered with his medals, he drove along to the trial like a conqueror.
As a matter of fact, the trial went in his favour. The judge decided to be lenient under the circumstances: Bartek was only condemned to three months' imprisonment.
In addition to this he had to pay a fine of 150 marks to the Boege family and 'other injured colonists.'
'Nevertheless the prisoner,' wrote thePosener Zeitungin the Criminal Report, 'showed not the slightest sign of contrition when the sentence was passed on him, but poured forth such a stream of invective, and began to enumerate his so-called services to the State in such an impudent manner, that it is surprising these insults to the Court and the German nation,' etc., etc.
Meanwhile Bartek in prison quietly recalled his deeds at Gravelotte, Sedan, and Paris.
We should, however, be doing an injustice in asserting that Herr Boege's action called forth no public censure. Very much the reverse. On a certain rainy morning a Polish Member of Parliament pointed out with great eloquence that the attitude of the Government towards the Poles hadaltered in Posen; that, considering the courage and sacrifice displayed by the Polish regiments during the war, it would be fitting to have more regard for justice in the Polish provinces; finally, that Herr Boege at Pognębin had abused his position as schoolmaster by beating a Polish child, calling it a Polish pig, and holding out hopes that after this war the inhabitants would trample the native population under foot. The rain fell as the Member was speaking, and as such weather makes people sleepy, the Conservatives yawned, the National-Liberals yawned, the Centre yawned,—for they were still being faced by the 'Kultur-Kampf.'
Following immediately on this 'Polish question' the Chamber proceeded to the order of the day.
Meanwhile Bartek sat in prison, or rather, he lay in the prison infirmary, for the blow from the stone had re-opened the wound which he had received in the war.
When not feverish, he thought and thought, like the turkeycock that died of thinking. But Bartek did not die, he merely did not arrive at any conclusion.
Now and then, however, during moments, which Science names 'lucida intervalla,' it occurred to him that he had perhaps exerted himself unnecessarily in 'doing for' the French.
Difficult times followed for Magda. The finehad to be paid, and there was nothing with which to pay it. The priest at Pognębin offered to help, but it turned out that there were not quite forty marks in his money box. The parish of Pognębin was poor; besides, the good old man never knew how his money went. Count Jarzyński was not at home. It was said that he had gone love-making to some rich lady in Prussia.
Magda did not know where to turn.
An extension of the loan was not to be thought of. What else, then? Should she sell the horse or the cows? Meanwhile Winter passed into Spring, the hardest time of all. It would soon be harvest, when she would need money for extra labour, and even now it was all exhausted. The woman wrung her hands in despair. She sent a petition to the Magistrate, recalling Bartek's services; she never even received an answer. The time for repayment of the loan was drawing near, and the sequestration with it.
She prayed and prayed, remembering bitterly the time when they were well off, and when Bartek used to earn money at the factory in winter. She tried to borrow money from her neighbours; they had none. The war had made itself felt all round. She did not dare to go to Just, because she was in his debt already, and had not even paid the interest. However, Just unexpectedly came to see her himself.
One afternoon she was sitting in the cottage doorway doing nothing, for despair had drained her strength. She was gazing before her at two golden butterflies chasing one another in the air, and thinking 'how happy those creatures are, they live for themselves and needn't pay'—and so on. After a while she sighed heavily, and a low cry broke from her pale lips: 'Oh God! God!' Suddenly at the gate appeared Just's long nose, and his long pipe beneath it. The woman turned pale. Just addressed her:—
'Morgen!'
'How are you, Herr Just?'
'What about my money?'
'Oh, my dear Herr Just, have pity! I am very poor, and what am I to do? They have taken my man away,—I have to pay the fine for him,—and I don't know where to turn. It would be better to die than to be worried like this from day to day. Do wait a while longer, dear Herr Just!'
She burst out crying, and seizing Herr Just's fat, red hand, she kissed it humbly. 'The Count will be back soon, then I will borrow from him, and give it back to you.'
'Well, and how will you repay the fine?'
'How can I tell?—I might sell the cow.'
'Then I will lend you some more.'
'May God Almighty repay you, my dear Sir! Although you are a Lutheran, you are a goodman. I speak the truth! If only other Germans were like you, Sir, one might bless them.'
'But I don't lend money without interest.'
'I know, I know.'
'Then write me one receipt for it all.'
'You are a kind gentleman, may God repay you too in the same way.'
'We will draw up the bill when I go into the town.'
He went into the town and drew up the bill, but Magda had gone to the priest for advice beforehand. Yet what could he advise? The priest said he was very sorry for her; the time given for repayment was short, the interest was high, Count Jarzyński was not at home; had he been, he might have helped. Magda, however, could not wait until the team was sold, and she was obliged to accept Just's terms. She contracted a debt of three hundred marks, that is, twice the amount of the fine, for it was certainly necessary to have a few pence in the house to carry on the housekeeping. On account of the importance of the document, Bartek was obliged to sign it, and for this reason Magda went to see him in prison. The conqueror was very depressed, dejected, and ill. He had wished to forward a petition, setting forth his grievances, but petitions were not accepted;—opinion in Administrative circles had turned against him since the Articles in thePosener Zeitung. For were not these very Authorities bound to afford protection to the peaceful German population, who, during the recent war, had given so many proofs of devotion and sacrifice to the Fatherland? They were therefore obliged in fairness to reject Bartek's petition. But it is not surprising that this should have depressed him at last.
'We are done for all round,' he said to his wife.
'All round,' she repeated.
Bartek began to ruminate deeply on the circumstances.
'It's a cruel injustice to me,' he said.
'That man Boege persecutes one,' Magda replied. 'I went to implore him, and he called me names too. Ah! the Germans have the upper hand now at Pognębin. They aren't afraid of anyone.'
'Ofcourse, for they are the strongest,' Bartek said sadly.
'As I am a plain woman, I tell you God is the strongest.'
'In Him is our refuge,' added Bartek.
They were both silent a moment, then he asked again:—
'Well, and what of Just?'
'If the Lord Almighty gives us a crop, then perhaps we shall be able to repay him. Possibly too the Count will help us, although he himselfhas debts with the German. They said even before the war that he would have to sell Pognębin. Let us hope that he will bring home a rich wife.'
'But will he be back soon?'
'Who knows? They say at the house that he will soon be coming with his wife. And directly he is back the Germans will be upon him. It's always those Germans! They are as plentiful as worms! Wherever one looks, whichever way one turns, whether in the village or the town—Germans for our sins! But where are we to get help from?'
'Perhaps you can decide on something, for you are a clever woman.'
'What can I advise? Should I have borrowed money from Just if I could have helped it? I did it for a good reason, but now the cottage in which we are settled, and the land also are already his. Just is better than other Germans, but he too has an eye to his own profit, not other people's. He won't be lenient to us any more than he has been lenient to others. I am not so stupid as not to know why he sticks his money in here! But what is one to do, what is one to do?' she cried, wringing her hands. 'Give some advice yourself, if you are clever. You can beat the French, but what will you do without a roof over your head, or a crust to eat?'
The victor of Gravelotte bent his head. 'Oh Jesu! Jesu!'
Magda had a kind heart; Bartek's grief touched her, so she said quickly:—
'Never mind, dear boy, never mind. Don't worry as long as you are not yet well. The rye is so fine, it's bending to the ground; the wheat the same. The ground doesn't belong to the Germans; it's as good as ever it was. The fields were in a bad state before your quarrel, but now they are growing so well, you'll see!'
Magda began to smile through her tears.
'The ground doesn't belong to the Germans,' she repeated once more.
'Magda!' Bartek said, looking at her with wide-open eyes, 'Magda!'
'What?'
'But,—because you are ... if....'
Bartek felt deep gratitude towards her, but he could not express it.
In truth Magda was worth more than ten other women put together. Her manner towards Bartek was rather curt, but she was really attached to him. In moments of excitement, as, for example, in the prison, she told him to his face that he was stupid; nevertheless, before other people she would generally exclaim:—'My Bartek pretends to be stupid, but that's his slyness.' She used frequently to say this. As a matter of fact, Bartek was about as cunning as his horse, and without Magda he would have been unable to manage either his holding or anything else. Now, when everything rested on her honest shoulders, she left no stone unturned, running hither and thither to beg for help. A week after her last visit to the prison infirmary she ran in again to see Bartek, breathless, beaming, and happy.
'My word, Bartek, how are you?' she exclaimed gleefully. 'Do you know the Count has arrived! He was married in Prussia; the younglady is a beauty! But he has done well for himself all round in getting her; fancy,—just fancy!'
The owner of Pognębin had really been married and come home with his wife, and had actually done very well by himself all round in finding her.
'Well, and what of that?' enquired Bartek.
'Be quiet, Blockhead,' Magda replied. 'Oh! how out of breath I am! Oh Jesu! I went to pay my respects to the lady. I looked at her: she came out to meet me like a queen, as young and charming as a flower, and as beautiful as the dawn!—Oh dear, how out of breath I am!—'
Magda took her handkerchief, and began to wipe the perspiration from her face. The next instant she started talking again in a gasping voice:—
'She had a blue dress like that blue-bottle. I fell at her feet, and she gave me her hand;—I kissed it,—and her hands are as sweet and tiny as a child's. She is just like a saint in a picture, and she is good, and feels for poor people. I began to beg her for help.—May God give her health!—And she said, "I will do," she said, "whatever lies in my power." And she has such a pretty little voice that when she speaks one does feel pleased. So then I began to tell her that there are unhappy people in Pognębin, and she said, "Not only in Pognębin," and then I burst into tears, and she too. And then the Countcame in, and he saw that she was crying, so he would have liked to take her and give her a little kiss. Gentlefolk aren't like us! Then she said to him, "Do what you can for this woman." And he said, "Anything in the world, whatever you wish."—May the Mother of God bless her, that lovely creature, may She bless her with children and with health!—The Count said at once: "You must be heavily in debt, if you have fallen into the hands of the Germans, but," he said, "I will help you, and also against Just."'
Bartek began to scratch his neck.
'But the Germans have got hold of him too.'
'What of that? His wife is rich. They could buy all the Germans in Pognębin now, so it was easy for him to talk like that. "The election," he said, "is coming on before long, and people had better take care not to vote for Germans; but I will make short work of Just and Boege." And the lady put her arm round his neck,—and the Count asked after you, and said, "if he is ill, I will speak to the doctor about giving him a certificate to show that he is unfit to be imprisoned now. If they don't let him off altogether," he said, "he will be imprisoned in the winter, but he is needed now for working the crops." Do you hear? The Count was in the town yesterday, and invited the doctor to come on a visit to Pognębin to-day. He's not a German. He'll writethe certificate. In the winter you'll sit in prison like a king, you'll be warm, and they'll give you meat to eat; and now you are going home to work, and Just will be repaid, and possibly the Count won't want any interest, and if we can't give it all back in the Autumn, I'll beg it from the lady. May the Mother of God bless her.... Do you hear?'
'She is a good lady. There are not many such!' Bartek said at once.
'You must fall at her feet, I tell you,—but no, for then that lovely head would bend to you! If only God grants us a crop. And do you see where the help has come from? Was it from the Germans? Did they give a single penny for your stupid head? Well, they gave you as much as it was worth! Fall at the lady's feet, I say!'
'I can't do otherwise,' Bartek replied resolutely.
Fortune seemed to smile on the conqueror once more. He was informed some days later that for reasons of health he would be released from prison until the winter. He was ordered to appear before the Magistrate. The man who, bayonet in hand, had seized flags and guns, now began to fear a uniform more than death. A deep, unconscious feeling was growing in his mind that he was being persecuted, that they could do as they liked with him, and that there was some mighty, yet malevolent and evil power above him, which,if he resisted, would crush him. So there he stood before the Magistrate, as formerly before Steinmetz, upright, his body drawn in, his chest thrown forward, not daring to breathe. There were some officers present also: they represented war and the military prison to Bartek. The officers looked at him through their gold eye-glasses with the pride and disdain befitting Prussian officers towards a private soldier and Polish peasant. He stood holding his breath, and the Magistrate said something in a commanding tone. He did not ask or persuade, he commanded and threatened. A Member had died in Berlin, and the writs for a fresh election had been issued.
'You Polish dog, just you dare to vote for Count Jarzyński, just you dare!'
At this the officers knitted their brows into threatening leonine wrinkles. One, lighting his cigar, repeated after the Magistrate 'Just you dare!' and Bartek the Conqueror's heart died within him. When he heard the order given, 'Go!' he made a half turn to the left, went out and took breath. They told him to vote for Herr Schulberg of Great Krzywda; he paid no attention to the command, but took a deep breath. For he was going to Pognębin, he could be at home during harvest time, the Count had promised to pay Just. He walked out of the town; the ripening cornfields surrounded him on every side, theheavy blades hurtling one another in the wind, and murmuring with a sound dear to the peasant's ear. Bartek was still weak, but the sun warmed him. 'Ah! how beautiful the world is!' this worn-out soldier thought.
It was not much further to Pognębin.
'The Election! The Election!'
Countess Marya Jarzyński's head was full of it, and she thought, talked and dreamt of nothing else.
'You are a great politician,' an aristocratic neighbour said to her, kissing her small hands in a snake-like way. But the 'great politician' blushed like a cherry, and answered with a beautiful smile:—
'Oh, we only do what we can!'
'Count Józef will be elected,' the nobleman said with conviction, and the 'great politician' answered:—
'I should wish it very much, though not alone for Józef's sake, but' (here the 'great politician' dropped her imprudent hands again), 'for the common cause...'
'By God! Bismarck is in the right!' cried the nobleman, kissing the tiny hands once more. After which they proceeded to discuss the canvassing. The nobleman himself undertook Krzywda Dolna and Mizerów, (Great Krzywda was lost,for Herr Schulberg owned all the property there), and Countess Marya was to occupy herself specially with Pognębin. She was all aglow with therôleshe was to fill, and she certainly lost no time. She was daily to be seen at the cottages on the main road, holding her skirt with one hand, her parasol with the other, while from under her skirt peeped her tiny feet, tripping enthusiastically in the great political cause. She went into the cottages, she said to the people working on the road, 'The Lord help you!' She visited the sick, made herself agreeable to the people, and helped where she could. She would have done the same without politics, for she had a kind heart, but she did it all the more on this account. Why should not she also contribute her share to the political cause? But she did not dare confess to her husband that she had an irresistible desire to attend the village meeting. In imagination she had even planned the speech she would make at the meeting. And what a speech it would be! What a speech! True, she would certainly never dare to make it, but if she dared—why then! Consequently when the news reached Pognębin that the Authorities had prohibited the meeting, the 'great politician' burst into a fit of anger, tore one handkerchief up completely, and had red eyes all day. In vain her husband begged her not to 'demean' herself to such a degree; next day the canvassing wascarried on with still greater fervour. Nothing stopped Countess Marya now. She visited thirteen cottages in one day, and talked so loudly against the Germans that her husband was obliged to check her. But there was no danger. The people welcomed her gladly, they kissed her hands and smiled at her, for she was so pretty and her cheeks were so rosy that wherever she went she brought brightness with her. Thus she came to Bartek's cottage also. Although Łysek did not bark at her, Magda in her excitement hit him on the head with a stick.
'Oh lady, my beautiful lady, my dear lady!' cried Magda, seizing her hands.
In accordance with his resolve, Bartek threw himself at her feet, while little Franek first kissed her hand, then stuck his thumb into his mouth and lost himself in whole-hearted admiration.
'I hope'—the young lady said after the first greetings were over,—'I hope, my friend Bartek, that you will vote for my husband, and not for Herr Schulberg.'
'Oh my dear lady!' Magda exclaimed, 'who would vote for Schulberg?—Give him the ten plagues! The lady must excuse me, but when one gets talking about the Germans, one can't help what one says.'
'My husband has just told me that he has repaid Just.'
'May God bless him!' Here Magda turned to Bartek. 'Why do you stand there like a post? I must beg the lady's pardon, but he's wonderfully dumb.'
'You will vote for my husband, won't you?' the lady asked. 'You are Poles, and we are Poles, so we will hold to one another.'
'I should throttle him if he didn't vote for him,' Magda said. 'Why do you stand there like a post? He's wonderfully dumb. Bestir yourself a bit!'
Bartek again kissed the lady's hand, but he remained silent, and looked as black as night. The Magistrate was in his mind.
The day of the Election drew near, and arrived. Count Jarzyński was certain of victory. All the neighbourhood assembled at Pognębin. After voting the gentlemen returned there from the town to wait for the priest, who was to bring the news. Afterwards there was to be a dinner, but in the evening the noble couple were going to Posen, and subsequently to Berlin also. Several villages in the Electoral Division had already polled the day beforehand. The result would be made known on this day. The company was in a cheerful frame of mind. The young lady was slightly nervous, yet full of hope and smiles, and made such a charming hostess that everyone agreed Count Józef had found a real treasurein Prussia. This treasure was quite unable at present to keep quiet in one place, and ran from guest to guest, asking each for the hundredth time to assure her that 'Józio would be elected.' She was not actually ambitious, and it was not out of vanity that she wished to be the wife of a Member, but she was dreaming in her young mind that she and her husband together had a real mission to accomplish. So her heart beat as quickly as at the moment of her wedding, and her pretty little face was lighted up with joy. Skilfully manœuvering amidst her guests, she approached her husband, drew him by the hand, and whispered in his ear, like a child, nicknaming someone, 'The Hon. Member!' He smiled, and both were happy at the most trifling word. They both felt a great wish to give one another a warm embrace, but owing to the presence of their guests, this could not be. Everyone, however, was looking out of the window every moment, for the question was a really important one. The former Member, who had died, was a Pole, and this was the first time in this Division that the Germans had put up a candidate of their own. Their military success had evidently given them courage, but just for that reason it the more concerned those assembled at the manor house at Pognębin to secure the election of their candidate. Before dinner there was no lack of patrioticspeeches, which especially moved the young hostess who was unaccustomed to them. Now and then she suffered an access of fear. Supposing there should be a mistake in counting the votes? But there would surely not only be Germans serving on the Committee! The principal landowners would simply flock to her husband, so that it would be possible to dispense with counting the votes. She had heard this a hundred times, but she still wished to hear it! Ah! and would it not make all the difference whether the local population had an enemy in Parliament, or someone to champion their cause? It would soon be decided,—in a short moment, in fact,—for a cloud of dust was rising from the road.
'The priest is coming! The priest is coming!' reiterated those present. The lady grew pale. Excitement was visible on every face. They were certain of victory, all the same this final moment made their hearts beat more rapidly. But it was not the priest, it was the steward returning from the town on horseback. Perhaps he might know something? He tied his horse to the gate post, and hurried to the house. The guests and the hostess rushed into the hall.
'Is there any news?—Is there any? Has our friend been elected?—What?—Come here!—Do you know for certain?—Has the result been declared?'
The questions rose and fell like rockets, but the man threw his cap into the air.
'The Count is elected!'
The lady sat down on a bench abruptly, and pressed her hand to her fast beating heart.
'Hurrah! Hurrah!' the neighbours shouted, 'Hurrah!'
The servants rushed out from the kitchen.
'Hurrah! Down with the Germans! Long live the Member! And my lady the Member's wife!'
'But the priest?' someone asked.
'He will be here directly;' the steward answered, 'they are still counting....'
'Let us have dinner!' the Hon. Member cried.
'Hurrah!' several people repeated.
They all walked back again from the hall to the drawing room. Congratulations to the host and hostess were now offered more calmly; the lady herself, however, did not know how to restrain her joy, and disregarding the presence of others, threw her arm round her husband's neck. But they thought none the worse of her for this; on the contrary, they were all much touched.
'Well, we still survive!' the neighbour from Mizerów said.
At this moment there was a clatter along the corridor, and the priest entered the drawing room, followed by old Maciej, of Pognębin.
'Welcome! Welcome!' they all cried. 'Well,—how great?'
The priest was silent a moment; then as it were into the very face of this universal joy he suddenly hurled the two harsh, brief words:
'Schulberg—elected!'
A moment of astonishment followed, a volley of hurried and anxious questions, to which the priest again replied:
'Schulberg is elected!'
'How?—What has happened?—By what means?—The steward said it was not so.—What has happened?'
Meanwhile Count Jarzyński was leading poor Countess Marya out of the room, who was biting her hankerchief, not to burst into tears or to faint.
'Oh what a misfortune, what a misfortune!' the assembled guests repeated, striking their foreheads.
A dull sound like people shouting for joy rose at that moment from the direction of the village. The Germans of Pognębin were thus gleefully celebrating their victory.
Count and Countess Jarzyński returned to the drawing room. He could be heard saying to his wife at the door, 'Il faut faire bonne mine,' and she had stopped crying already. Her eyes were dry and very red.
'Will you tell us how it was?' the host asked quietly.
'How could it be otherwise, Sir,' old Maciej said, 'seeing that even the Pognębin peasants voted for Schulberg?'
'Who did so?'
'What? Those here?'
'Why, yes; I myself and everyone saw Bartek Słowik vote for Schulberg.'
'Bartek Słowik?' the lady said.
'Why, yes. The others are at him now for it. The man is rolling on the ground, howling, and his wife is scolding him. But I myself saw how he voted.'
'From such an enlightened village!' the neighbour from Mizerów said.
'You see, Sir,' Maciej said, 'others who were in the war also voted as he did. They say that they were ordered—'
'That's cheating, pure cheating!—The election is void—Compulsion!—Swindling!' cried different voices.
The dinner at the Pognębin manor house was not cheerful that day.
The host and hostess left in the evening, but not as yet for Berlin, only for Dresden.
Meanwhile Bartek sat in his cottage, miserable, sworn at, ill-treated and hated, a stranger evento his own wife, for even she had not spoken a word to him all day.
In the autumn God granted a crop, and Herr Just, who had just come into possession of Bartek's farm, felt pleased, for he had not done at all a bad stroke of business.
Some months later three people walked out of Pognębin to the town, a peasant, his wife, and child. The peasant was very bent, more like an old man than an able-bodied one. They were going to the town because they could not find work at Pognębin. It was raining. The woman was sobbing bitterly at losing her cottage, and her native place. The peasant was silent. The road was empty, there was not a carriage, not a human being to be seen; the cross alone, wet from the rain, stretched its arms above them.—The rain fell more and more heavily, dimming the light.
Bartek, Magda and Franek were going to the town because the victor of Gravelotte and Sedan had to serve his term of imprisonment during the winter, on account of the affair with Boege.
Count and Countess Jarzyński continued to enjoy themselves in Dresden.