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, and smiled 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 the Posener Zeitung in 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 had altered 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 fine had 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 good man. 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 the Posener 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.’
‘Of course, 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 himself has debts with the German. They said even before the war that he would have to sell Pognębin. Let us hope that he wi
ll 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.
CHAPTER IX
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 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.
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 665