Tales by Polish Authors

'My word, Bartek, how are you?' she exclaimed gleefully. 'Do you know the Count has arrived! He was married in Prussia; the young lady 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 Count came 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 write the 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, the heavy 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.

CHAPTER X

'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 the rôle she 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 was carried 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 treasure in 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 patriotic speeches, 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 even to 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.

TWILIGHT

STEFAN ŻEROMSKI

The sun was gliding into a lustrous copper haze, drawn in wide streaks, like transparent dust, across the distant scene. It sank behind some thick red firs left standing at the edge of a clearing and behind the dark trunks which lay rotting on the hillside. Its beams still lighted the corners of a cottage, gilding it and colouring it scarlet; they penetrated the folds of grey clouds, and glittered on the water.

A recent storm had laid the marshy plains and newly cultivated woodlands partly under water. Here and on the furrows of the stubble-fields and the fresh autumn ploughing the puddles turned red and their irridescent surface became like molten glass, while entrancing violet shadows, dazzling to the sight, fell on the grey, beaten-down clods; the sand hills turned yellow; the weeds growing on the banks, the bushes at the edge of the field paths, all borrowed some unwonted momentary colour.

In a deep hollow surrounded by sparsely wooded hills to the east, west and south ran a little brook, which overflowed into bays, swamps, shallows and creeks. Tangles of reeds grew at the water's edge, lank bulrushes, sweet-flags, and clumps of willows. The still, red water was now shining in formless pale-green patches from under the large leaves of the water-lilies and coarse water-weeds.

A flight of teals was hovering above with outstretched necks, and broke in upon the silence with the swish of their wings. Otherwise everything was still. Even the glassy blue dragon-flies, which had been hovering ceaselessly on their gossamer wings round the stems of the bulrushes, had disappeared. The untiring water-flies alone yet strayed over the illuminated surface of the swamps on their stilt-like legs… And there were two human beings at work.

The marshes belonged to the manor house. Formerly the young owner, accompanied by his spaniel, had floundered through them, shooting ducks and snipe, which were to be found there before he cut down all the woods. He left quite half of the land uncultivated, and having very quickly run through his property, he found no means of supporting himself until he went to Warsaw, where he was now selling soda-water at a stall.

When a new and prudent owner appeared, he inspected the fields, stick in hand, and frequently stood still on the marshes, rubbing his nose.

He fumbled with his hands in the swamp, dug holes, measured, sniffed, – till he invented a strange thing. He ordered the bailiff to hire labourers daily to dig peat, to heap barrow-loads of the mud on to the fields, and to go on digging a hole until it was large enough for a pond. He was to make a dyke, and to choose a lower position for a second pond, till there were some thirteen in all; then to cut trenches; to let the water down, build water-gates, and set fish in the ponds.

Walek Gibała, a day labourer without any land of his own, who was working for wages in the neighbouring village, was hired to cart away the peat. Gibała had been groom to the former landlord, but had not stayed on with the new one. In the first place, the new landlord and the new steward had lowered the wages and allowances, and, in the second place, they made an enquiry into everything that was stolen. In the time of the former landlord each groom used half a bushel of oats for a pair of horses, and took the rest in the evening to the 'Berlin' Inn, in exchange for tobacco or a drop of brandy. However, this business had come to an end at once when the new steward appeared, and since he justly laid the blame of it on Walek, he had boxed his ears, and dismissed him from his service.

So from that time Walek and his wife had lived on their daily earnings in the village, because he could not find a situation; he was not likely even to apply for one, so thoroughly had the steward taken his character away. At harvest time they both earned something here and there from the peasants, but in winter and early spring they suffered terribly, – indescribably, from hunger. Large and bony, with iron muscles, the man was as thin as a board, with an ashen look, round-shouldered and weakened by privation. The woman – like a woman – supported herself by her neighbours; she sold mushrooms, raspberries and strawberries to the manor house, or to the Jews, and at least thus earned a loaf of wheat-bread. But, without food, she was no match for the man at threshing. When the bailiff gave the order for digging in the meadows, the eyes of both sparkled. The steward himself promised thirty kopeks for digging two cubic yards.

Walek kept his wife occupied with the digging every day and all day. She loaded the wheelbarrow, and he wheeled the mud on to the field along planks thrown across the swamp. They worked feverishly. They had two large, deep wheelbarrows, and before Walek had brought back the empty one, the second was already full; then he threw the strap round his shoulder and pushed the barrow up the hill. The iron wheel creaked horribly. The liquid, dark, rank slime, thick with marsh-weeds, overflowed and trickled down on to the man's bare knees, as the wheelbarrows were tilted from plank to plank; it penetrated to his neck and shoulders, marking his shirt with a dark, evil-smelling streak. His arms ached at the elbows, his feet were painful and stiff from being continually plunged into the mud, but – with a hard day's work, they dug out four cubic yards: – and he knew that he had sixty kopeks in his pocket.

They were hopeful, for they had earned thirty roubles by the end of the autumn. They paid their rent, bought a cask of pickled cabbage, five bushels of potatoes, a 'sukmana,'9 boots, some aprons and homespun for the woman, and linen for shirts. Thus they could last till the spring, when they would be able to earn by threshing and weaving at other people's houses.

All of a sudden the steward considered it excessive to give thirty kopeks for two cubic yards. It struck him that no one would be tempted to patter about in a swamp from daybreak to nightfall unless on the verge of starvation, and these people had undertaken it without hesitation. 'Twenty kopeks is enough,' he said, 'if not, – well, go without.'

There was nothing to be earned at this time of year, and the manor house had enough of its own people to attend to the threshing and machinery; – it was no use being fastidious in the matter. After this announcement Walek went to the inn, and made a beast of himself. Next day he beat his wife, and dragged her out to work for him.

From that time forward – beginning when it grew light – they dug out the four cubic yards, never stopping work from daybreak until night.

And now, indeed, night was drawing on from afar. The distant light-blue woods were growing dark, and melting into grey gloom. The radiance on the waters was extinguished. Immense shadows from the red firs standing towards the north fell on the summits of the hills, and along the clearings. The tree trunks alone remained crimson here and there, and then the stones. Small, fugitive rays were reflected from these points of light, and, falling into the deep wastes created among objects by the half-darkness, were refracted, quivered for an instant, and went out in turn. The trees and bushes lost their convexity and brilliance, their natural colours mingled with the grey distance, and they appeared only as flat and completely black forms with weird contours.