‘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 da
y.
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.
Lillian Morris and Other Stories
Translated by Jeremiah Curtin
CONTENTS
LILLIAN MORRIS.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
SACHEM
YAMYOL
THE BULL FIGHT
Sienkiewicz in a Safari outfit, c. 1890
LILLIAN MORRIS.
DURING my stay in California I went with my worthy and gallant friend, Captain R., to visit Y., a compatriot of ours who was living in the secluded mountains of Santa Lucia. Not finding him at home, we passed five days in a lonely ravine, in company with an old Indian servant, who during his master’s absence took care of the Angora goats and the bees.
Conforming to the ways of the country, I spent the hot summer days mainly in sleep, but when night came I sat down near a fire of dry “chamisal,” and listened to stories from the captain, concerning his wonderful adventures, and events which could happen only in the wilds of America.
Those hours passed for me very bewitchingly. The nights were real Californian: calm, warm, starry; the fire burned cheerily, and in its gleam I saw the gigantic, but shapely and noble form of the old pioneer warrior. Raising his eyes to the stars, he sought to recall past events, cherished names, and dear faces, the very remembrance of which brought a mild sadness to his features. Of these narratives I give one just as I heard it, thinking that the reader will listen to it with as much interest as I did.
CHAPTER I.
I came to America in September, 1849, said the captain, and found myself in New Orleans, which was half French at that time. From New Orleans I went up the Mississippi to a great sugar plantation, where I found work and good wages. But since I was young in those days, and full of daring, sitting in one spot and writing annoyed me; so I left that place soon and began life in the forest. My comrades and I passed some time among the lakes of Louisiana, in the midst of crocodiles, snakes, and mosquitoes. We supported ourselves with hunting and fishing, and from time to time floated down great numbers of logs to New Orleans, where purchasers paid for them not badly in money.
Our expeditions reached distant places. We went as far as “Bloody Arkansas,” which, sparsely inhabited even at this day, was well-nigh a pure wilderness then. Such a life, full of labors and dangers, bloody encounters with pirates on the Mississippi, and with Indians, who at that time were numerous in Louisiana, Arkansas, and Tennessee, increased my health and strength, which by nature were uncommon, and gave me also such knowledge of the plains, that I could read in that great book not worse than any red warrior.
After the discovery of gold in California, large parties of emigrants left Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and other eastern cities almost daily, and one of these, thanks to my reputation, chose me for leader, or as we say, captain.
I accepted the office willingly, since wonders were told of California in those days, and I had cherished thoughts of going to the Far West, though without concealing from myself the perils of the journey.
At present the distance between New York and San Francisco is passed by rail in a week, and the real desert begins only west of Omaha; in those days it was something quite different. Cities and towns, which between New York and Chicago are as numerous as poppy-seeds now, did not exist then; and Chicago itself, which later on grew up like a mushroom after rain, was merely a poor obscure fishing-village not found on maps. It was necessary to travel with wagons, men, and mules through a country quite wild, and inhabited by terrible tribes of Indians: Crows, Blackfeet, Pawnees, Sioux, and Arickarees, which it was well-nigh impossible to avoid in large numbers, since those tribes, movable as sand, had no fixed dwellings, but, being hunters, circled over great spaces of prairie, while following buffaloes and antelopes.
Not few were the toils, then, that threatened us; but he who goes to the Far West must be ready to suffer hardship, and expose his life frequently. I feared most of all the responsibility which I had accepted. This matter had been settled, however, and there was nothing to do but make preparations for the road. These lasted more than two months, since we had to bring wagons, even from Pittsburgh, to buy mules, horses, arms, and collect large supplies of provisions. Toward the end of winter, however, all things were ready.
I wished to start in such season as to pass the great prairies lying between the Mississippi and the Rocky Mountains in spring, for I knew that in summer because of heat in those open places, multitudes of men died of various diseases. I decided for this reason to lead the train, not over the southern route by St. Louis, but through Iowa, Nebraska, and Northern Colorado. That road was more dangerous with reference to Indians, but beyond doubt it was the healthier. The plan roused opposition at first among people of the train. I declared that if they would not obey they might choose another captain. They yielded after a brief consultation, and we moved at the first breath of spring.
Days now set in which for me were toilsome enough, especially till such time as men had grown accustomed to me and the conditions of the journey. It is true that my person roused confidence, for my daring trips to Arkansas had won a certain fame among the restless population of the border, and the name of “Big Ralph,” by which I was known on the prairies, had struck the ears of most of my people more than once. In general, however, the captain, or leader, was, from the nature of things, in a very critical position frequently with regard to emigrants. It was my duty to choose the camping-ground every evening, watch over the advance in the daytime, have an eye on the whole caravan, which extended at times a mile over the prairie, appoint sentries at the halting-places, and give men permission to rest in the wagons when their turn came.
Americans have in them, it is true, the spirit of organization developed to a high degree; but in toils on the road men’s energies weaken, and unwillingness seizes the most enduring. At such times no one wishes to reconnoitre on horseback all day and stand sentry at night, but each man would like to evade the turn which is coming to him, and lie whole days in a wagon. Besides, in intercourse with Yankees, a captain must know how to reconcile discipline with a certain social familiarity, — a thing far from easy. In time of march, and in the hours of night-watching, I was perfect master of the will of each of my companions; but during rest in the day at farms and settlements, to which we came at first on the road, my rôle of commander ended. Each man was master of himself then, and more than once I was forced to overcome the opposition of insolent adventurers; but when in presence of numerous spectators it turned out a number of times that my Mazovian fist was the stronger, my significance rose, and later on I never had personal encounters. Besides, I knew American character thoroughly. I knew how to help myself, and, in addition to all, my endurance and willingness were increased by a certain pair of blue eyes, which looked out at me with special interest from beneath the canvas roof of a wagon. Those eyes looked from under a forehead shaded by rich golden h
air, and they belonged to a maiden named Lillian Morris. She was delicate, slender, with finely cut features, and a face thoughtful, though almost childlike. That seriousness in such a young girl struck me at once when beginning the journey, but duties connected with the office of captain soon turned my mind and attention elsewhere.
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 666