“Well, what if I am the secretary?” replied he, with contempt. “The secretary is here for the purpose of writing to the chief and the commissioner; but to such a mayor as you are, write yourself.” Then he added with majestic contempt, “But what is a mayor to me? What? A peasant, and that is the end of it! Do what you like with a peasant, he will always be a peasant!”
Then he arranged his hair, and looked again in the glass.
The mayor felt touched, and answered, —
“But see here! Haven’t I drunk tea with the marshal?”
“A great deal I care about your tea!” said Zolzik, carelessly. “And besides without arrack, I suppose?”
“That is not true! for it was with arrack.”
“Well, let it be with arrack; but still I will not write the report!”
“If the gentleman is of such delicate make-up, why did he ask to be secretary?” answered the mayor, in anger.
“But who asked you? I am secretary only through acquaintance with the chief—”
“Oh, great acquaintance, when he comes here you won’t let a breath out of your lips!”
“Burak! Burak! I give warning that you are letting your tongue out too much. Your peasant bones are sticking in my throat, together with your office of secretary. A man of education can only grow common among you. If I get angry, I will throw the secretaryship, and you, to the devil—”
“Will you! And what will become of you, then?”
“What? Shall I go to gnawing the rafters without this office? A man with education will take care of himself. Have no fear about a man with education! Only yesterday Stolbitski, the inspector, said to me, ‘Ei, Zolzik! thou wouldst be a devil, not a sub-inspector, for thou knowest how grass grows.’ Talk to the fool! For me your secretaryship is a thing to be spat upon. A man with education—”
“Oh, but the world will not come to an end if you leave us!”
“The world will not come to an end, but you will dip a dishcloth in a tar bucket, and write in the books with it. It will be pleasant for you till you feel the stick through your velvet.”
The mayor began to scratch his head.
“If anything is said you are on your hind-legs right away.”
“Well, don’t open your lips too much—”
“There it is, there it is!”
Again there was silence, except that the mayor’s pen was squeaking slowly on paper. At last the mayor straightened himself, wiped his pen on his coat, and said, —
“Well, now! I have done it, with the help of God.”
“Read what you have tacked together.”
“What had I to tack? I have written out accurately everything that is needed.”
“Read it over, I say.”
The mayor took the paper in both hands and began to read: —
“To the Mayor of the Commune of Lipa. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen. The chief commanded that the soldier lists be ready after the Mother of God, and the registers with you in the parish with the priest, and also our men go to you to harvest; do you understand? That they be written out, and the harvesters too, to send before the Mother of God, as eighteen years are finished; for if you do not do this you will catch it on the head, which I wish to myself and you. Amen.”
The worthy mayor heard every Sunday how the priest ended his sermon with Amen, so the ending seemed to him as final as it was appropriate to all the demands of polite style; but Zolzik began to laugh. “How is that?” inquired he.
“Well, write better you.”
“Certainly I will write, because I blush for all Barania-Glova.”
Zolzik sat down, took the pen in his hand, made a number of circles with it, as if to acquire impetus, and then fell to writing rapidly.
The notice was soon ready; the author straightened his hair, and read as follows: —
“The Mayor of the Commune of Barania-Glova to the Mayor of the Commune of Lipa. As the recruiting lists are to be ready at command of superior authority on such and such a day of such and such a year, the Mayor of the Commune of Lipa is notified that the register of those peasants of Barania-Glova, which is in the chancery of his parish, is to be taken by him from that chancery and sent at the very earliest date to the Commune of Barania-Glova. The peasants of the Commune of Barania-Glova who are at work in Lipa are to be presented in Barania-Glova on the same day as the register.”
The mayor caught those sounds with eager ear; and his face expressed an occupation and a concentration of spirit that was well-nigh religious. How beautiful and solemn all that seemed to him; how thoroughly official it was! Take, for example, even that beginning: “As the recruiting lists, etc.” The mayor adored that “as;” but he never could learn it, or rather he knew how to begin with it, but not a word farther could he go. From Zolzik’s hand that flowed just like water; so that even in the chancery of the district no one wrote better. Next he blackened the seal, struck it on the paper so that the table quivered, and all was there finished!
“Well, that is a head for you, that is a head!” said the mayor.
“Yes,” answered Zolzik, mollified; “but then a writer [secretary] is one who writes books—”
“Do you write books too?”
“You ask as if you did not know; but the chancery books, who writes them?”
“True,” said the mayor, who added, after a while, “The lists will come now with the speed of a thunderbolt.”
“But next do you see to ridding the village of useless people.”
“How are you to get rid of them?”
“I tell you that the chief has complained that the people in Barania-Glova are not as they should be. They are always drinking, says he. ‘Burak,’ says he, ‘does not look after the people; so the matter will be ground out on him.’”
“Yes, I know,” answered the mayor; “that all is ground out on me. When Rozalka Kovaliha was brought to bed, the court decided to give her twenty-five, so that a second time she should remember. ‘Because,’ said the court, ‘that is not nice for a girl.’ Who commanded? Was it I? Not I, but the court. What had I to do with that. Let them all be brought to bed for themselves, if they like. The court directed, and then laid the blame on me.”
At this juncture the cow struck the wall with such force that the chancery trembled. The mayor cried out, with a voice full of bitterness, —
“Aa! hei! may all the—”
The secretary, who was sitting at the table, began to look again in the glass.
“Serves you right,” said he; “why don’t you look out? It will be the same story with this drinking. One mangy sheep will lead a whole flock astray, and he attracts people to the dram-shop.”
“Of course, that is well known; but as to drinking, there is need of drink when people have worked in the field.”
“But I tell you only this, get rid of Repa, and all will be well.”
“What! shall I take his head off?”
“You will not take his head off; but now that they are making the army lists, inscribe him in the list; let him draw the lot, and that is enough.”
“But he is married and has a son a year old.”
“Who among the higher authorities knows that? He will not go to make a complaint, and if he goes, they will not listen to him. In time of recruiting no one has leisure.”
“Oh, lord writer, it must be that for you the question is not of drinking, but of Repa’s wife; and that is nothing but a sin against God.”
“What is that to you? This is what you will do; you will look out for your son, who is nineteen years of age, and he as well as others must draw.”
“I know that; but I won’t give him. If there is no other way, I will ransom him.”
“Oh! if you are such a rich man—”
“The Lord God has a little copper money in my hands; not much; but perhaps it will hold out.”
“You will pay eight hundred rubles of copper money?”
“And if I say that I will pay, I will pay even
in copper, and afterward, if the Lord God permits me to remain mayor, with His supreme assistance, the money may come back to me in a couple of years.”
“It will come back, or it will not come back. I need some too; I will not give you all. A man with education has always more outgoes than one who is ignorant; if we should enroll Repa in place of your son, it would be a sparing for you; you cannot find eight hundred rubles on the road.”
The hope of saving such a large sum began to tickle Burak, and smile at him agreeably.
“Ba!” said he at last, “that is always a very dangerous thing.”
“Well, it is not on your head.”
“That is just what I am afraid of, that the thing will be done by your head, and ground out on mine.”
“As you like; then pay eight hundred rubles.”
“I do not say that I am not sorry for the money.”
“But since you think that it will come back to you, why are you sorry? Do not count too much on your mayorship, though; they don’t know everything about you yet; if they only knew what I know—”
“You take more chancery money than I do.”
“I am not speaking of the chancery now, but of times a little earlier.”
“Oh, I am not afraid! I did what was commanded.”
“Well, you will explain that somewhere else.”
After he had said this, the secretary took his cap and went out of the chancery. The sun was very low; people were returning from the field. First, the secretary met five mowers with scythes on their shoulders; they bowed to him, saying, “Praised.” The lord secretary nodded to them with his pomaded head, but did not answer, “For the ages,” since he judged that it did not become a man with education to do so. That Pan Zolzik had education, all knew; and only those might doubt who were either malicious, or in general of evil thought, — people to whom every personality raising its head above the common level was as salt in the eye, and would not let them sleep.
If we had proper biographies of all our celebrated people, we should read in the life of this uncommon man, that he gained his first knowledge at Oslovitsi, the capital city of the district of Oslovitski, in which district Barania-Glova also is situated. In the seventeenth year of his life, this young Zolzik had advanced as far as the second class; and would have gone higher as promptly, had it not been that, on a sudden, stormy times came, which interrupted forever his career in the exact sciences. Carried away by the usual enthusiasm of youth, Pan Zolzik, who moreover had been persecuted still earlier by unjust professors, stood at the head of the more actively watchful of his colleagues, made cats’ music for his persecutors, tore his books, broke his rule and pens, and, rejecting Minerva, entered on a new career. In this new career he arrived at the office of communal secretary; and as we have heard already, was even dreaming of becoming sub-inspector. He did not succeed badly as secretary. Accurate knowledge rouses respect at all times; and since, as I have remarked, my sympathetic hero knew something about almost every inhabitant in the district, all felt for him respect, mingled with a certain caution, lest they might in any way offend an individuality so uncommon. Even persons of “intelligence” bowed to him, and peasants took off their caps at a distance, saying, “Praised.”
Here I see, however, that I must explain more clearly why Pan Zolzik did not answer to the “Praised,” with the usual “For the ages of ages.” I have mentioned already that he considered that as unbecoming in a man of education; but there were other reasons also. Faculties which are thoroughly self-acting are generally bold and radical. Pan Zolzik had arrived at the conviction that “the soul is a breath; and that is the end of the question.” Moreover, the secretary was reading “Isabella of Spain, or the Secrets of the Court of Madrid,” just then in course of publication by the Warsaw publishing house of Pan Breslauer. This novel, remarkable in every regard, pleased him so much and penetrated him so deeply that on a time he had even a plan to leave all and go to Spain. “Marfori succeeded,” thought he; “why should not I also succeed?” He might have gone, indeed, for he was of the opinion that “in his stupid country a man was merely going to loss;” but happily he was detained by circumstances which this epopaea will mention further on.
In fact, as a result of reading that “Isabella of Spain,” which was issued periodically, to the greater glory of literature, by Pan Breslauer, Pan Zolzik looked very sceptically at the clergy, and therefore at everything connected directly or indirectly with the clergy. This was the reason why he did not give the mowers the usual answer, “For the ages of ages,” but went on; he went on and on, till he met girls coming home from the harvest field with sickles on their shoulders. They were just passing a great pool, and went, one after another, goose fashion, raising their skirts behind, and exposing their red legs. Then Pan Zolzik said, —
“How are ye, titmice?” And he stopped on the very path; when any girl passed, he caught her around the waist, kissed her, and then pushed her into the puddle. But that was just for sport, and the girls cried, “Oi! oi!” laughing till their back teeth could be seen. Afterwards, when they had passed, the secretary heard, not without pleasure, how they said, one to another, “But that is a nice cavalier; he is our secretary!” “And he is as blooming as an apple!” The third one said, “And his head has the smell of a rose; so that when he catches you around the waist your head is just dizzy!”
The secretary went forward, full of pleasant thoughts. But farther on, near a cottage, he heard a conversation about himself; and he halted behind the fence. Beyond the fence was a dense cherry orchard, in the orchard bees, and not far from the beehives two women were talking. One had potatoes in her apron, and was peeling them with a small knife, while the other was saying, —
“Oi! my Stahova, I am so afraid that they will take my Franek and make a soldier of him, that my flesh creeps.”
“You must go to the secretary,” answered the other. “If he cannot help you, no one can help you.”
“And what can I take him, my Stahova? It is not possible to go with empty hands to him. The mayor is better; you can take him white crawfish, or butter, or linen under your arm, or a hen; he will take anything without grumbling. But the secretary won’t look. Oh, he is terribly proud! For him you must just open your handkerchief, and out with a ruble!”
“Ye’ll not wait,” muttered the secretary to himself, “till I take eggs or a hen from you. Am I some kind of a bribe-snatcher? But go with your hen to the mayor.”
Thus thinking, he pushed apart the branches of the cherry-tree and was going to call to the women, when he heard all at once the sound of a brichka behind him. The secretary turned and looked. In the brichka was sitting Pan Victor, a young student, with his cap on the side of his head, and a cigarette between his teeth; the brichka was driven by that Franek of whom the women were talking a moment before.
The student bent over the side of the brichka, saw Pan Zolzik, waved his hand to him, and cried, —
“How art thou, Pan Zolzik? What news in the village? Dost thou always pomade thy hair two inches deep?”
“The servant of my lord benefactor!” said Zolzik, bowing low. But when the brichka had gone a short distance, he muttered, —
“May thy neck break before the end of the journey!”
The secretary could not endure that student. He was a cousin of the Skorabevskis, and came to visit them every summer. Zolzik not only could not endure the young man, but feared him like fire, for he was always jesting; a great rogue, he made a fool of Zolzik as if purposely, and was the only man in the whole place who made no account of him. Once even Pan Victor had happened in during a session of the communal council, and told Zolzik explicitly that he was an idiot, and the peasants that they had no need to obey him. Zolzik would have been glad to take revenge; but — what could he do to the student? As to others, he knew even something of each one, but of Pan Victor he knew nothing.
The arrival of that student was not to his liking; therefore Pan Zolzik went on with a cloudy brow, a
nd did not halt till he came to a cottage standing a little way in from the road. When he saw it, his forehead grew bright again. That was a cottage poorer, perhaps, than others, but it had a neat look. The space in front was swept clean, and sweet-flag was scattered in the yard. Near the fence lay pieces of wood; in one of them was sticking an axe with its handle erect. A little farther was a barn with open doors; near it a building which was both a shed and a cowhouse; still farther was a field in which a horse was nipping grass, and moving about with fettered feet. Before the shed was a large manure heap on which two pigs were lying. Near this ducks were walking along. Close to the pieces of wood a cock was scratching the ground among chips, and whenever he found a grain, or a worm, he called “Koh! koh! koh!” The hens flew to the call, in hot haste, and seized the dainty, pulling it from one another.
By the door of the cottage a woman was scutching hemp, and singing, “Oi ta dada! Oi ta dada! da-da-na!” Near her lay a dog with his forelegs stretched out; he was snapping at flies which were lighting on his cut ear.
The woman was young, perhaps twenty, and remarkably handsome.
She wore a white shirt drawn together with red strings, and on her head was the ordinary peasant cap. She was as healthy as a mushroom; she was broad in the shoulders and hips, slender in the waist, active, — in one word, a deer. She had delicate features, a head not large, and a complexion perhaps even pale, but somewhat gilded by sun-rays, very dark eyes, brows as if painted, a small delicate nose, and lips like cherries. Her fine dark hair was dropping out from under the cap.
When the secretary approached, the dog lying near the scutching-bench rose, thrust his tail under him, and began to growl, showing his teeth from moment to moment as if he were laughing.
“Kruchek!” cried the woman, with a thin, resonant voice, “wilt thou lie down! May the worms bite thee!”
“Good-evening,” began Zolzik.
“Good-evening, lord secretary!” answered the woman, not ceasing to work.
“Is yours at home?”
“He is at work in the woods.”
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 702