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diff --git a/35456-h/35456-h.htm b/35456-h/35456-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1a0d930 --- /dev/null +++ b/35456-h/35456-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7175 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tales by Polish Authors. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} +.tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; +padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.signature { + margin-right: 10%; + text-align: right; +} + + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales by Polish Authors, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales by Polish Authors + +Author: Various + +Translator: Else C. M. Benecke + +Release Date: March 2, 2011 [EBook #35456] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES BY POLISH AUTHORS *** + + + + +Produced by David Clarke, JoAnn Greenwood and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<h3>TALES BY POLISH AUTHORS</h3> + + +<h4>London<br /> +SIMPKIN, MARSHALL & Co., <span class="smcap">Ltd.</span><br /> +<br /> + +New York<br /> +LONGMANS, GREEN & Co.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Fourth Avenue and 30th Street</span><br /><br /><br /></h4> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> + + + + + +<h1><br />TALES<br /></h1> +<h2>BY<br /></h2> +<h1>POLISH AUTHORS<br /><br /></h1> + +<h3>HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ<br /> +STEFAN ŻEROMSKI<br /> +ADAM SZYMAŃSKI<br /> +WACŁAW SIEROSZEWSKI<br /><br /></h3> + +<h4>TRANSLATED BY<br /></h4> + +<h2>ELSE C. M. BENECKE<br /><br /><br /></h2> + +<h4><ins title="Transciber's Note: original reads 'Orford'">Oxford</ins><br /> + +B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD STREET<br /> + +1915<br /></h4> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> +<h2>TRANSLATOR'S NOTE</h2> + + +<p>Of the contemporary Polish authors represented +in this volume only Henryk Sienkiewicz is well +known in England. Although the works of Stefan +Żeromski, Adam Szymański, and Wacław Sieroszewski +are widely read in Poland, none have as +yet appeared in English, so far as the present +translator is aware. 'Srul—from Lubartów' is +generally considered one of the most striking +of Adam Szymański's Siberian 'Sketches.' The +author writes from personal experience, having +himself been banished to Siberia for a number +of years. The same can be said of Wacław +Sieroszewski; during the fifteen years spent in +Siberia as a political exile, he made a study of +some of the native tribes, especially the Yakut +and Tungus, and has written a great deal on this +subject. Stefan Żeromski is also one of the most +distinguished modern Polish novelists; several of +his books have been translated into French and +German.</p> + +<p>The translator is under a deep obligation to +the authors, MM. Sienkiewicz, Szymański, and +Żeromski, for kindly allowing her to publish these +tales in English, and to Mr. J. H. Retinger, +Secretary of the Polish Bureau in London, for +authorising the same on behalf of M. Sieroszewski.</p> + +<p style='text-align:right'> +E. C. M. B.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> +<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2> + + + + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left"> </td><td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Henryk Sienkiewicz: '<i>Bartek the Conqueror</i>'</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Stefan Żeromski: '<i>Twilight</i>'</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">'<i>Temptation</i>'</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Adam Szymański: '<i>Srul—from Lubartów</i>'</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Wacław Sieroszewski: '<i>In Autumn</i>'</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center">'<i>In Sacrifice to the Gods</i>'</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span></p> +<h2>POLISH PRONUNCIATION:</h2> + + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left">After k, rz = English sh.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">sz = English sh</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">cz = English ch</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">ł = English w</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">w = English v</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2>BARTEK THE CONQUEROR</h2> + +<h3>HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ</h3> + + + + + +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + + +<p>My hero's name was Bartek Słowik<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>; but +owing to his habit of staring when spoken +to, the neighbours called him 'Bartek Goggle-Eyes.' +Indeed, he had little in common with +nightingales, and his intellectual qualities and +truly childish <i>naïveté</i> won him the further nickname +of 'Bartek the Blockhead.' This last was +the most popular, in fact, the only one handed +down to history, though Bartek bore yet a fourth,—an +official—name. Since the Polish words +'man' and 'nightingale'<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> present no difference +to a German ear, and the Germans love to translate +Barbarian Proper names into a more cultured +language in the cause of civilization, the following +conversation took place when he was being +entered as a recruit.</p> + +<p>'What is your name?' the officer asked Bartek.</p> + +<p>'Słowik.' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Szloik<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> <i>Ach, ja, gut.</i>'</p> + +<p>And the officer wrote down 'Man.'</p> + +<p>Bartek came from the village of Pognębin, a +name given to a great many villages in the +Province of Posen and in other parts of Poland. +First of all there was he himself, not to mention +his land, his cottage and two cows, his own +piebald horse, and his wife, Magda. Thanks to +this combination of circumstances he was able to +live comfortably, and according to the maxim +contained in the verse:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i2">To him whom God would bless He gives, of course,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">A wife called Magda and a piebald horse.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>In fact, all his life he had taken whatever +Providence sent without troubling about it. But +just now Providence had ordained war, and Bartek +was not a little upset at this. For news had +come that the Reserves would be called up, and +that it would be necessary to leave his cottage +and land, and entrust it all to his wife's care. +People at Pognębin were poor enough already. +Bartek usually worked at the factory in the winter +and helped his household on in this way;—but +what would happen now? Who could know +when the war with the French would end? +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + +<p>Magda, when she had read through the papers, +began to swear:</p> + +<p>'May they be damned and die themselves! +May they be blinded!—Though you are a fool—yet +I am sorry for you. The French give no +quarter; they will chop off your head, I dare say.'</p> + +<p>Bartek felt that his wife spoke the truth. He +feared the French like fire, and was sorry for +himself on this account. What had the French +done to him? What was he going after there,—why +was he going to that horrible strange land +where not a single friendly soul was to be found? +He knew what life at Pognębin was like,—well, +it was neither easy nor difficult, but just such as +it was. But now he was being told to go away, +although he knew that it was better to be here +than anywhere else. Still, there was no help for +it;—such is fate. Bartek embraced his wife, and +the ten-year old Franek; spat, crossed himself, +and went out of the cottage, Magda following +him. They did not take very tender leave of one +another. They both sobbed, he repeating, 'Come, +come, hush!' and went out into the road. There +they realized that the same thing which had +happened to them had happened to all Pognębin, +for the whole village was astir, and the road was +obstructed by traffic. As they walked to the +station, women, children, old men and dogs +followed them. Everyone's heart was heavy;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +but a few smoked their pipes with an air of +indifference, and some were already intoxicated. +Others were singing with hoarse voices:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i2">'Skrzynecki<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> died, alas!</span><br /> +<span class="i2">No more his voice is heard;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">His hand, bedeckt with rings,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">No more shall wield the sword,'</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>while one or two of the Germans from Pognębin +sang 'Die Wacht am Rhein' out of sheer fright. +All that motley and many-coloured crowd,—including +policemen with glittering bayonets,—moved +in file towards the end of the village with +shouts, bustle, and confusion. Women clung to +their 'warriors′' necks and wept; one old +woman showed her yellow teeth and waved her +arms in the air; another cried: 'May the Lord +remember our tears!' There were cries of: +'Franek! Kaśka! Józek! good-bye!' Dogs +barked, the church bell rang, the priest even said +the prayers for the dying, since not one of those +now going to the station would return. The war +had claimed them all, but the war would not give +them back. The plough would grow rusty in the +field, for Pognębin had declared war against the +French. Pognębin could not acquiesce in the +supremacy of Napoleon III, and took to heart the +question of the Spanish succession. The last +sounds of the bell hovered over the crowd, which +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> + +was already falling out of line. Heads were +bared as they passed the shrine. The light dust +rose up from the road, for the day was dry and +fine. Along both sides of the road the ripening +corn, heavy in the ear, rustled and bowed in the +gentle gusts of wind. The larks were twittering +in the blue sky, and each warbled as if fearing he +might be forgotten.</p> + +<p>At the station there was a still greater crowd, +and more noise and confusion! Here were men +called in from Krzywda Gorna, Krzywda Dolna, +from Wywłaszczyniec, from Niedola, and Mizerów. +The station walls were covered with proclamations +in which war was declared in the Name +of God and the Fatherland: the 'Landwehr' +was setting forth to defend menaced parents, +wives and children, cottages and fields. It was +evident that the French bore a special grudge +against Pognębin, Krzywda Gorna, Krzywda +Dolna, Wywłaszczyniec, Niedola, and Mizerów. +Such, at least, was the impression produced on +those who read the placards. Fresh crowds were +continually assembling in front of the station. In +the waiting-room the smoke from the men's pipes +filled the air, and hid the placards. It was difficult +to make oneself understood in the noise, for +everyone was running, shouting, and screaming. +On the platform orders were given in German. +They sounded strangely brief, harsh, and decisive.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p>The bell rang. The powerful breath of the +engine was heard in the distance coming nearer,—growing +more distinct. With it the war itself +seemed to be coming nearer.</p> + +<p>A second bell,—and a shudder ran through +every heart. A woman began to scream. 'Jadom, +Jadom!' She was evidently calling to her Adam, +but the other women took up the word and cried, +'Jadą.'<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> A shrill voice among them added: 'The +French are coming!' and in the twinkling of an +eye a panic seized not only the women, but also +the future heroes of Sedan. The crowd swerved. +At that moment the train entered the station. +Caps and uniforms were seen to be at all the +windows. Soldiers seemed to swarm like ants. +Dark, oblong bodies of cannon showed grimly on +some of the trucks, on others there was a forest +of bayonets. The soldiers had, apparently, been +ordered to sing, for the whole train shook with +their strong masculine voices. Strength and +power seemed in some way to issue from that +train, the end of which was not even in sight.</p> + +<p>The Reservists on the platform began to fall in, +but anyone who could lingered in taking leave. +Bartek swung his arms as if they were the sails +of a windmill, and stared.</p> + +<p>'Well, Magda, good-bye!' +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Oh, my poor fellow!'</p> + +<p>'You will never see me again!'</p> + +<p>'I shall never see you again!'</p> + +<p>'There's no help for it!'</p> + +<p>'May the Mother of God protect and shelter +you!'</p> + +<p>'Good-bye. Take care of the cottage.'</p> + +<p>The woman embraced him in tears.</p> + +<p>'May God guide you!'</p> + +<p>The last moment had come. The whistle and +the women's crying and sobbing drowned everything +else. 'Good-bye! Good-bye!' But the +soldiers were already separated from the motley +crowd, and formed a dark, solid mass, moving +forward in square columns with the certainty and +regularity of clockwork. The order was given: +'Take your seats!' Columns and squares broke +asunder from the centre, marched with heavy +strides towards the carriages, and jumped into +them. The engine, now breathing like a dragon +and exhaling streams of vapour, sent forth +wreaths of grey smoke. The women cried and +sobbed still louder; some of them hid their eyes +with their handkerchiefs, others waved their hands +towards the carriages; sobbing voices repeated +the name of husband and son.</p> + +<p>'Good-bye, Bartek!' Magda cried from amongst +them. 'Take care of yourself!—May the Mother +of God—Good-bye! Oh, God!—'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + +<p>'And take care of the cottage,' answered +Bartek.</p> + +<p>The line of trucks suddenly trembled, the carriages +knocked against one another,—and went +forward.</p> + +<p>'And remember you have a wife and child,' +Magda cried, running after the train. 'Good-bye, +in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy +Ghost! Good-bye——'</p> + +<p>On went the train, faster and faster, bearing +away the warriors of Pognębin, of both Krzywdas, +of Niedola, and Mizerów.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> + + +<p>Magda, with the crowd of women, returned +crying to Pognębin in one direction; in the +other the train, bristling with bayonets, rushed +into the grey distance, and Bartek with it. There +seemed to be no end to the long cloud of smoke; +Pognębin was also scarcely visible. Only the +lime-tree showed faintly, and the church tower, +glistening as the rays of the sun played upon it. +Soon the lime-tree also disappeared, and the gilt +cross resembled a shining speck. As long as that +speck continued to shine Bartek kept his eyes +fixed upon it, but when that vanished too there +were no bounds to the poor fellow's grief. A +sense of great weakness came over him and he +felt lost. So he began to look at the Sergeant, +for, after the Almighty, he already felt there was +no one greater than he. The Sergeant clearly +knew what would become of Bartek now; he +himself knew nothing, understood nothing. The +Sergeant sat on the bench, and, supporting his +rifle between his knees, he lighted his pipe. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +smoke rose in clouds, hiding his grave, discontented +face from time to time. Not Bartek's eyes +alone watched his face; all the eyes from every +corner of the carriage were watching it. At Pognębin +or Krzywda every Bartek or Wojtek was his +own master, each had to think about himself, and +for himself, but now the Sergeant would do this +for him. He would command them to look to the +right, and they would look to the right; he would +command them to look to the left, and they would +look to the left. The question, 'Well, and what +is to become of us?' stood in each man's eyes, +but he knew as much as all of them put together, +and also what was expected of them. If only +one were able by glances to draw some command +or explanation from him! But the men were +afraid to ask direct, as war was now drawing +near with all the chances of being court-martialled. +What was permitted and was not +permitted, and by whom, was unknown. They, +at least, did not know, and the sound of such +a word as 'Kriegsgericht,' though they did not +understand it, frightened them very much.</p> + +<p>They felt that this Sergeant had still more +power over them now than at the manœuvres in +Posen; he it was who knew everything, and +without him nothing would be done. He seemed +meanwhile to be finding his rifle growing heavy, +for he pushed it towards Bartek to hold for him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +Bartek reached out hastily for it, held his breath, +stared, and looked at the Sergeant as he would at +a rainbow, yet derived little comfort from that. +Ah, there must surely be bad news, for even the +Sergeant looked worried. At the stations one +heard singing and shouting; the Sergeant gave +orders, bustled about and swore, as if to show his +importance. But let the train once move on, and +everyone, including himself, was silent. Owing +to him the world now seemed to wear two aspects, +the one clear and intelligible—that represented by +home and family—the other dark, yes, absolutely +dark—that of France and war. He effectually +revived the spirits of the Pognębin soldiers, not +so much by his personality, as that each man +carried him at the back of his mind. And since +each soldier carried his knapsack on his shoulder, +with his cloak and other warlike accoutrements, +the whole load was extremely heavy.</p> + +<p>All the while the train was shaking, roaring, +and rushing along into space. Now a station +where they added fresh carriages and engines; +now another where helmets, cannon, horses, +bayonets, and companies of Lancers were to be +seen. The fine evening drew in slowly. The sun +sank in a deep crimson, and a number of light +flying clouds spread from the edge of the darkening +sky across to the west. The train, stopping +frequently at the stations to pick up passengers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +and carriages, shook and rushed forward into +that crimson brightness, as into a sea of blood. +From the open carriage, in which Bartek and the +Pognębin troops were seated, one could see villages, +hamlets and little towns, church steeples, +storks—looking like hooks, as they stood on one +leg on their nests,—isolated cottages, and cherry +orchards. Everything was passed rapidly, and +everything looked crimson. Meanwhile the soldiers, +growing bolder, began to whisper to one +another, because the Sergeant, having laid his +kit bag under his head, had fallen asleep, with his +clay pipe between his teeth. Wojtek Gwizdała, a +peasant from Pognębin, sitting beside Bartek, +jogged his elbow: 'Bartek, listen!'</p> + +<p>Bartek turned a face with pensive, wide open +eyes towards him.</p> + +<p>'Why do you look like a calf going to be +slaughtered?' Gwizdała whispered. 'True, you, +poor beggar, are going to be slaughtered, that's +certain!'</p> + +<p>'Oh, my word!' groaned Bartek.</p> + +<p>'Are you afraid?' Gwizdała asked.</p> + +<p>'Why shouldn't I be afraid?'</p> + +<p>The crimson in the sky was growing deeper +still, so Gwizdała pointed towards it and went on +whispering:</p> + +<p>'Do you see that brightness? Do you know, +Blockhead, what that is? That's blood. Here's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +Poland,—our frontier, say,—do you understand? +But there in the distance, where it's so bright, +that's France itself.'</p> + +<p>'And shall we be there soon?'</p> + +<p>'Why are you in such a hurry? They say that +it's a terribly long way. But never fear, the +French will come out to meet us.'</p> + +<p>Bartek's Pognębin brain began to work laboriously. +After some moments he asked: 'Wojtek.'</p> + +<p>'Yes?'</p> + +<p>'What sort of people are these Frenchmen?'</p> + +<p>Here Wojtek's wisdom suddenly became aware +of a pitfall into which it might be easier to tumble +headforemost than to come out again. He knew +that the French were the French. He had heard +something about them from old people, who had +related that they were always fighting with everyone; +he knew at least that they were very strange +people. But how could he explain this to Bartek +to make him understand how strange they were? +First of all, therefore, he repeated the question, +'What sort of people?'</p> + +<p>'Why, yes.'</p> + +<p>Now there were three nations known to Wojtek: +living in the centre were the Poles; on the +one side were the Russians, on the other the +Germans. But there were various kinds of Germans. +Preferring, therefore, to be clear rather +than accurate, he said:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<p>'What sort of people are the French? How +can I tell you; they must be like the Germans, +only worse.'</p> + +<p>At which Bartek exclaimed: 'Oh, the low +vermin!'</p> + +<p>Up to that time he had had one feeling only +with regard to the French, and that was a feeling +of unspeakable fear. Henceforth this Prussian +Reservist cherished the hatred of a true patriot +towards them. But not feeling quite clear about +it all, he asked again: 'Then Germans will be +fighting Germans?'</p> + +<p>Here Wojtek, like a second Socrates, chose to +adopt a simile, and answered:</p> + +<p>'But doesn't your dog, Łysek, fight with my +Burek?'</p> + +<p>Bartek opened his mouth and looked at his +instructor for a moment: 'Ah! true.'</p> + +<p>'And the Austrians are Germans,' explained +Wojtek, 'and haven't they fought against us? +Old Swierzcz said that when he was in that war +Steinmetz used to shout: "On, boys, at the +Germans!" Only that's not so easy with the +French.'</p> + +<p>'Good God!'</p> + +<p>'The French have never been beaten in any +war. When they attack you, don't be afraid, +don't disgrace yourself. Each man is worth two +or three of us, and they wear beards like Jews.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +There are some as dark as the devil. Now that +you know what they are like, commend yourself +to God!'</p> + +<p>'Well, but then why do we run after them?' +Bartek asked in desperation.</p> + +<p>This philosophical remark was possibly not as +stupid as it appeared to Wojtek, who, evidently +influenced by official opinion, quickly had his +answer ready.</p> + +<p>'I would rather not have gone myself, but if +we don't run after them, they will run after us. +There's no help for it. You have read what the +papers say. It's against us peasants that they +bear the chief grudge. People say that they have +their eyes on Poland, because they want to +smuggle vodka out of the country, and the Government +won't allow it, and that's why there's +war. Now do you understand?'</p> + +<p>'I cannot understand,' Bartek said resignedly.</p> + +<p>'They are also as greedy for our women as a +dog for a bone,' Wojtek continued.</p> + +<p>'But surely they would respect Magda, for +example?'</p> + +<p>'They don't even respect age!'</p> + +<p>'Oh!' cried Bartek in a voice implying, 'If that +is so then I will fight!'</p> + +<p>In fact this seemed to him really too much. +Let them continue to smuggle vodka out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +Poland,—but let them dare to touch Magda! Our +friend Bartek now began to regard the whole war +from the standpoint of his own interests, and took +courage in the thought of how many soldiers and +cannon were going out in defence of Magda, who +was in danger of being outraged by the French. +He arrived at the conviction that there was +nothing for it but to go out against them.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the brightness had faded from the +sky, and it had grown dark. The carriages began +to rock violently on the uneven rails, and the +helmets and bayonets shook from right to left to +the rhythm of the rocking. Hour after hour +passed by. Millions of sparks flew from the +engine and crossed one another in the darkness, +serpentining in long golden lines. For a while +Bartek could not sleep. Like those sparks in the +wind, thoughts leapt into his mind about Magda, +about Pognębin, the French and the Germans. +He felt that though he would have liked to have +lain down on the bench on which he was sitting, +he could not do so. He fell asleep, it is true, but +it was a heavy, unrefreshing sleep, and he was at +once pursued by dreams. He saw his dog, Łysek, +fighting with Wojtek's Burek, till all their hair +was torn off. He was running for a stick to stop +them, when suddenly he saw something else: +sitting with his arm round Magda was a dark +Frenchman, as dark as the earth; but Magda<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +was smiling contentedly. Some Frenchmen jeered +at Bartek, and pointed their fingers at him. In +reality it was the engine screaming, but it seemed +to him that the French were calling, 'Magda! +Magda! Magda!' 'Hold your tongue, thieves,' +Bartek shouted, 'leave my wife alone!' but they +continued calling 'Magda! Magda! Magda!' +Łysek and Burek started barking, and all Pognębin +cried out, 'Don't let your wife go!' Was he +bound, or what was the matter? No, he rushed +forward, tore at the cord and broke it, seized the +Frenchman by the head,—and suddenly—!</p> + +<p>Suddenly he was seized with severe pain, as +from a heavy blow. Bartek awoke and dragged +his feet to the ground. The whole carriage +awoke, and everyone asked, 'What has happened?' +In his sleep the unfortunate Bartek had +seized the Sergeant by the head. He stood up +immediately, as straight as a fiddle-string, two +fingers at his forehead; but the Sergeant waved +his hand, and shouted like mad:</p> + +<p>'Ach, Sie! beast of a Pole! I'll knock all the +teeth out of your head,—blockhead!'</p> + +<p>The Sergeant shouted until he was hoarse with +rage, and Bartek stood saluting all the while. +Some of the soldiers bit their lips in order not to +laugh, but they were half afraid, too. A parting +shot burst forth from the Sergeant's lips:</p> + +<p>'You Polish Ox! Ox from Podolia!'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ultimately everything became quiet again. Bartek +sat back in his old place. He was conscious +of nothing but that his cheek was swollen, and, +as if playing him a trick, the engine kept repeating:</p> + +<p>'Magda! Magda! Magda!'</p> + +<p>He felt a heavy weight of sorrow upon him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> + + +<p>It was morning!</p> + +<p>The fitful, pale light fell on faces sleepy and +worn with a long restless night. The soldiers +were sleeping in discomfort on the seats, some +with their heads thrown forward, others with +their noses in the air. The dawn was rising +and flooding all the world with crimson light. +The air was fresh and keen. The soldiers awoke. +The morning rays were drawing away shadows +and mist into some region unknown. Alas! and +where was now Pognębin, where Great and Little +Kzrywda, where Mizerów? Everything was +strange and different. The summits of the hills +were overgrown with trees; in the valleys were +houses hidden under red roofs, with dark crucifixes +on the white walls,—beautiful houses like +mansions, covered with vines. Here, churches +with spires, there, factory chimneys with wreaths +of purple smoke. There were only straight lines, +level banks, and fields of corn. The inhabitants +swarmed like ants. They passed villages and +towns, and the train went through a number of +unimportant stations without stopping. Something +must have happened, for there were crowds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +to be seen everywhere. When the sun slowly +began to appear from behind the hills, one or +two of the soldiers commenced saying a prayer +aloud. Others followed their example, and the +first rays of splendour fell on the men's earnest, +devout faces.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the train had stopped at a larger +station. A crowd of people immediately surrounded +it: news had come from the seat of war. +Victory! Victory! Telegrams had been arriving +for several hours. Everyone had anticipated defeat, +so when roused by the unexpected news, +their joy knew no bounds. People rushed half-clad +from their houses and their beds, and ran to +the post-office. Flags were waving from the +roofs, and handkerchiefs from everyone's hands. +Beer, tobacco and cigars were carried to the +carriages. The enthusiasm was unspeakable; +everyone's face was beaming. 'Die Wacht am +Rhein' filled the air continuously like a tempest. +Not a few were weeping, others embraced one +another. The enthusiasm animating the crowd +imparted itself to the gallant soldiers, their courage +rose, and they too began to sing. The +carriages trembled with their strong voices, and +the crowd listened in wonder to their unintelligible +songs. The men from Pognębin sang:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i2">'Bartoszu! Bartoszu! never lose hope!'</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>'The Poles, the Poles!' repeated the crowd by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +way of explanation, and, gathering round the +carriages, admired their soldierly bearing, and +added to their joy by relating anecdotes of the +remarkable courage of these Polish Regiments.</p> + +<p>Bartek had unshaven cheeks, which, in addition +to his yellow moustache, goggle-eyes, and large +bony face, made him look terrifying. They gazed +at him as at some wild beast. These, then, were +the men who were to defend Germany! Such were +they who had just disposed of the French! Bartek +smiled with satisfaction, for he too was pleased +that they had beaten the French. Now they +would not go to Pognębin, they would not make +off with Magda, nor capture his land. So he +smiled, but as his cheek hurt him badly, he made +a grimace at the same time, and did certainly +look terrifying. Then, displaying the appetite of +a Homeric warrior, he caused pea-sausages and +pints of beer to disappear into his mouth as into +a vacuum. People in the crowd gave him cigars +and pence, and they all drank to one another.</p> + +<p>'There's some good in this German nation,' he +said to Wojtek, adding after a moment, 'and you +know they have beaten the French!'</p> + +<p>But Wojtek, the sceptic, cast a shadow on his +joy. Wojtek had forebodings, like Cassandra:</p> + +<p>'The French always allow themselves to be +beaten at first, in order to take you in, and then +they set to until they have cut you to pieces!'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<p>Wojtek did not know that the greater part of +Europe shared his opinion, in general, and in +particular now.</p> + +<p>They travelled on. All the houses were covered +with flags. They stopped a long while at several +of the stations, because there was a block of trains +everywhere. Troops were hastening from all +sides of Germany to reinforce their brothers in +arms. The trains were swathed in green wreaths, +and the Lancers had decorated their lances with +the bunches of flowers given them on the way. +The majority of these Lancers also were Poles. +More than one conversation and greeting was +heard passing from carriage to carriage:</p> + +<p>'How are you, old fellow, and where is God +Almighty leading you?'</p> + +<p>Meanwhile to the accompaniment of the train +rumbling along the rails, the well-known song +rang out:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i2">'Flirt with us, soldiers! dears!'</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Cried the girls of Sandomierz.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>And soon Bartek and his comrades caught up +the refrain:—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i2">Gaily forth the answer burst:</span><br /> +<span class="i2">'Bless you, dears! but dinner first!'</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>As many as had gone out from Pognębin in +sorrow were now filled with enthusiasm and spirit. +A train which had arrived from France with the +first batch of wounded, damped this feeling of +cheerfulness, however. It stopped at Deutz, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +waited a long time to allow the trains hurrying +to the seat of war to go by. The men were +marched across the bridge <i>en route</i> for Cologne. +Bartek ran forward with several others to look at +the sick and wounded. Some lay in closed, others +in open carriages, and these could be seen well. +At the first glance our hero's heart was again in +his mouth.</p> + +<p>'Come here, Wojtek,' he cried in terror. 'See +how many of our countrymen the Frenchmen have +done for!'</p> + +<p>It was indeed a sight! Pale, exhausted faces, +some darkened by gunpowder or by pain, or +stained with blood. To the sounds of universal +rejoicing these men only responded by groans. +Some were cursing the war, the French and the +Germans. Parched lips called every moment for +water, eyes rolled in delirium. Here and there, +amongst the wounded, were the rigid faces of the +dead, in some cases peaceful, with blue lines round +their eyes, in others contorted through the death +struggle, with terrifying eyes and grinning teeth. +Bartek saw the bloody fruits of war for the first +time, and once more confusion reigned in his +mind. He seemed quite stupefied, as, standing +in the crowd, with his mouth open, he was +elbowed from every side, and pomelled on the +neck by the police. He sought Wojtek's eyes, +nudged him, and said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Wojtek, may Heaven preserve us! It's horrible!'</p> + +<p>'It will be just the same with you.'</p> + +<p>'Jesu! Mary! That human beings should +murder one another like this! When a fellow kills +another the police take him off to the magistrate +and prison!'</p> + +<p>'Well, but now whoever kills most human +beings is to be praised. What were you thinking +of, Blockhead: did you think you would use gunpowder +as in the manœuvres, and would shoot at +targets instead of people?'</p> + +<p>Here the difference between theory and practice +certainly stood out clearly. Notwithstanding that +our friend Bartek was a soldier, had attended +manœuvres and drill, had practised rifle shooting, +had known that the object of war was to kill +people, now, when he saw blood flowing, and all +the misery of war, it made him feel so sick and +miserable he could hardly keep himself upright. +He was impressed anew with respect for the +French; this diminished, however, when they +arrived at Cologne from Deutz. At the Central +Station they saw prisoners for the first time. Surrounding +them was a number of soldiers and +people, who gazed at them with interest, but without +hostility. Bartek elbowed his way through +the crowd, and, looking into the carriage, was +amazed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<p>A troop of French infantry in ragged cloaks, +small, dirty, and emaciated, were packed into the +carriages like a cask of herrings. Many of them +stretched out their hands for the trifling gifts +presented to them by the crowd, if the sentinels +did not prevent them. Judging from what he had +heard from Wojtek, Bartek had had a wholly +different impression of the French, and this took +his breath away. He looked to see if Wojtek +were anywhere about, and found him standing +close by.</p> + +<p>'What did you say?' asked Bartek. 'By all +the Saints! I shouldn't be more surprised if I had +lost my head!'</p> + +<p>'They must have been starved somehow,' +answered Wojtek, equally disillusioned.</p> + +<p>'What are they jabbering?'</p> + +<p>'It's certainly not Polish.'</p> + +<p>Reassured by this impression, Bartek walked on +past the carriages. 'Miserable wretches!' he +said, when he had finished his review of the Regulars.</p> + +<p>But the last carriages contained Zouaves, and +these gave Bartek food for further reflection. +From the fact that they sat huddled together in +the carriages, it was impossible to discover +whether each man were equal to two or three +ordinary men; but, through the window, he saw +the long, martial beards, and grave faces of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +veteran soldiers with dark complexions and alarmingly +shining eyes. Again Bartek's heart leapt to +his mouth.</p> + +<p>'These are the worst of all,' he whispered low, +as if afraid they might hear him.</p> + +<p>'You have not yet seen those who have not let +themselves be taken prisoner,' replied Wojtek.</p> + +<p>'Heaven preserve us!'</p> + +<p>'Now do you understand?'</p> + +<p>Having finished looking at the Zouaves, they +walked on. At the last carriage Bartek suddenly +started back as if he had touched fire.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Wojtek, Lord help us!'</p> + +<p>There was the dark—nearly black—face of a +Turco at the open window, rolling his eyes so that +the whites showed. He must have been wounded, +for his face was contorted with pain.</p> + +<p>'But what's the matter?' asked Wojtek.</p> + +<p>'That must be the Evil One, it's not a soldier. +Lord have mercy on my sins!'</p> + +<p>'Look at his teeth!'</p> + +<p>'May he go to perdition! I shan't look at him +any longer.'</p> + +<p>Bartek was silent, then asked after a moment:</p> + +<p>'Wojtek?'</p> + +<p>'Yes?'</p> + +<p>'Mightn't it be a good thing to cross oneself +before anyone like that?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> + +<p>'The heathen don't understand anything about +the holy truth.'</p> + +<p>The signal was given for taking their seats. +In a few moments the train was moving. When +it grew dusk Bartek continually saw before him +the Turco's dark face with the terrible white of his +eyes. From the feeling which at the moment +animated this Pognębin soldier, it would not have +been possible to foretell his future deeds.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> + + +<p>The particular share he took at first in the +pitched battle of Gravelotte, merely convinced +Bartek of this fact,—that in war there is +plenty to look at, but nothing to do. For at the +commencement he and his regiment were told to +order arms and wait at the bottom of a hill covered +by a vineyard. The guns were booming in the distance, +squadrons of cavalry charged past near at +hand with a clatter which shook the earth; then +the flags passed, then Cuirassiers with drawn +swords. The shells on the hill flew hissing across +the blue sky in the form of small white clouds, +then smoke filled the air and hid the horizon. +The battle seemed like a storm which passes +through a district without lasting long anywhere.</p> + +<p>After the first hours, unusual activity was displayed +round Bartek's regiment. Other regiments +began to be massed round his, and in the spaces +between them, the guns, drawn by plunging +horses, rushed along, and, hastily unlimbered, +were pointed towards the hill. The whole valley<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +became full of troops. Commands were now +thundered from all sides, the Aides-de-Camps +rushed about wildly, and the private soldiers said +to one another:</p> + +<p>'Ah! it will be our turn now! It's coming!' or +enquired uneasily of one another,</p> + +<p>'Isn't it yet time to start?'</p> + +<p>'Surely it must be!'</p> + +<p>The question of life and death was now beginning +to hang in the balance. Something in the +smoke, which hid the horizon, burst close at hand +with a terrible explosion. The deep roar of the +cannon and the crack of the rifle firing was heard +ever nearer; it was like an indistinct sound coming +from a distance,—then the mitrailleuse became +audible. Suddenly the guns, placed in position, +boomed forth until the earth and air trembled +together. The shells whistled frightfully through +Bartek's company. Watching they saw something +bright red, a little cloud, as it might be, and +in that cloud something whistled, rushed, rattled, +roared, and shrieked. The men shouted: 'A +shell! A shell,' and at the same moment this +vulture of war sped forward like a gale, came +near, fell, and burst! A terrible roar met the ear, +a crash as if the world had collapsed, followed by +a rushing sound, as before a puff of wind! Confusion +reigned in the lines standing in the neighbourhood +of the guns, then came the cry and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +command 'Stand ready!' Bartek stood in the +front rank, his rifle at his shoulder, his head +turned towards the hill, his mouth set,—so his +teeth were not chattering. He was forbidden to +tremble, he was forbidden to shoot. He had +only to stand still and wait! But now another +shell burst,—three, four, ten. The wind lifted the +smoke from the hill: the French had already +driven the Prussian battery from it, had placed +theirs in position, and now opened fire on to the +valley. Every moment from under cover of the +vineyard they sent forth long white columns of +smoke. Protected by the guns, the enemy's +infantry continued to advance, in order to open +fire. They were already half way down the hill +and could now be seen plainly, for the wind was +driving the smoke away. Would the vineyard +prove an obstacle to them? No, the dark caps of +the infantry were advancing. Suddenly they disappeared +under the tall arches of the vines, and +there was nothing to be seen but tricolour flags +waving here and there. The rifle fire began +fiercely but intermittently, continually starting in +fresh and unexpected places. Shells burst above +it, and crossed one another in the air. Now +and then cries rang out from the hill, which were +answered from below by a German 'Hurrah!' +The guns from the valley sent forth an uninterrupted +fire; the regiment stood unflinching.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<p>The line of fire began to embrace it more +closely, however. The bullets hummed in the +distance like gnats and flies, or passed near with +a terrible whizz. More and more of them came:—hundreds, +thousands, whistling round their heads, +their noses, their eyes, their shoulders; it was +astonishing there should be a man left standing. +Suddenly Bartek heard a groan close by: 'Jesu!' +then 'Stand ready!' then again 'Jesu!' 'Stand +ready!' Soon the groans went on without intermission, +the words of command came faster and +faster, the lines drew in closer, the whizzing grew +more frequent, more uninterrupted, more terrible. +The dead covered the ground. It was like the +Judgment Day.</p> + +<p>'Are you afraid?' Wojtek asked.</p> + +<p>'Why shouldn't I be afraid?' our hero answered, +his teeth chattering.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless both Bartek and Wojtek still kept +their feet, and it did not even enter their heads +to run away. They had been commanded to +stand still and receive the enemy's fire. Bartek +had not spoken the truth; he was not as much +afraid as thousands of others would have been in +his place. Discipline held the mastery over his +imagination, and his imagination had never painted +such a horrible situation as this. Nevertheless +Bartek felt that he would be killed, and he confided +this thought to Wojtek.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> + +<p>'There won't be room in Heaven for the numbers +they kill,' Wojtek answered in an excited +voice.</p> + +<p>These words comforted Bartek perceptibly. He +began to hope that his place in Heaven had already +been taken. Re-assured with regard to this, he +stood more patiently, conscious only of the intense +heat, and with the perspiration running down his +face. Meantime the firing became so heavy that +the ranks were thinning visibly. There was no +one to carry away the killed and wounded; the +death rattle of the dying mingled with the whizz +of shells and the din of shooting. One could see +by the movement of the tricolour flags that the +infantry hidden by the vines was coming closer +and closer. The volleys of mitrailleuse decimated +the ranks; the men were beginning to grow +desperate.</p> + +<p>But underlying this despair were impatience +and rage. Had they been commanded to go forward, +they would have gone like a whirlwind. It +was impossible to merely stand still in one spot. +A soldier suddenly threw down his helmet with his +whole force, and exclaimed:</p> + +<p>'Curse it! One death is as good as another!'</p> + +<p>Bartek again experienced such a feeling of relief +from these words that he almost entirely ceased +to be afraid. For if one death was as good as +another, what did anything matter? This rustic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +philosophy was calculated to arouse courage more +rapidly than any other. Bartek knew that one +death was as good as another, but it pleased him +to hear it, especially as the battle was now turning +into a defeat. For here was a regiment which +had never fired a single shot, and was already +half annihilated. Crowds of soldiers from other +regiments which had been scattered, ran in +amongst and round theirs in disorder; only +these peasants from Pognębin, Great and Little +Krzywda, and Mizerów still remained firm, upholding +Prussian discipline. But even amongst them +a certain degree of hesitation now began to be +felt. Another moment and they would have burst +the restraint of discipline. The ground under +their feet was already soft and slippery with blood, +the stench of which mingled with the smell of +gunpowder. In several places the lines could not +join up closely, because the dead bodies made gaps +in them. At the feet of those men yet standing, +the other half lay bleeding, groaning, struggling, +dying, or in the silence of death. There was no +air to breathe in. They began to grumble:</p> + +<p>'They have brought us out to be slaughtered!'</p> + +<p>'No one will come out of this!'</p> + +<p>'Silence, Polish dogs!' sounded the officer's +voice.</p> + +<p>'I should just like you to be standing in my +shoes!'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Where is that fellow?'</p> + +<p>Suddenly a voice began to repeat:</p> + +<p>'Beneath Thy Shadow....'</p> + +<p>Bartek instantly took it up:</p> + +<p>'We flee, O holy Son of God!'</p> + +<p>And soon on that field of carnage a chorus of +Polish voices was calling to the Defender of their +nation:</p> + +<p>'Of Thy favour regard our prayers.'</p> + +<p>while from beneath their feet there came the +accompaniment of groans: 'Mary! Mary!' She +had evidently heard them, for at that moment the +Aide-de-Camps came galloping up, and the command +rang forth: 'Arms to the attack! Hurrah! +Forward!' The crest of bayonets was suddenly +lowered, the column stretched out into a long line +and sprang towards the hill to seek with their +bayonets the enemy they could not discover with +their eyes. The men were, however, still two +hundred yards from the foot of the hill, and they +had to traverse that distance under a murderous +fire. Would they not perish like the rest? Would +they not be obliged to retreat? Perish they might, +but retreat they could not, for the Prussian commander +knows what tune will bring Polish soldiers +to the attack. Amid the roar of cannon, amid the +rifle fire and the smoke, the confusion and groaning, +loudest of all sounded the drums and trumpets, +playing the hymn at which every single drop<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +of blood leapt in their veins. 'Hurrah!' answered +the Macki<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> 'as long as we live!' Frenzy seized +them. The fire met them full in the face. They +went like a whirlwind over the prostrate bodies of +men and horses, over the wrecks of cannon. They +fell, but they went with a shout and a song. They +had already reached the vineyard and disappeared +into its enclosure. Only the song was heard, and +at times a bayonet glittered. On the hill the firing +became increasingly fierce. In the valley the +trumpets kept on sounding. The French volleys +continued faster and faster,—still faster,—and +suddenly—</p> + +<p>Suddenly they were silent.</p> + +<p>Down in the valley that old wardog, Steinmetz, +lighted his clay pipe, and said in a tone of satisfaction:</p> + +<p>'You have only to play to them! The daredevils +will do it!'</p> + +<p>And actually in a few moments one of the +proudly waving tricolours was suddenly raised +aloft, then drooped, and disappeared.</p> + +<p>'They are not joking,' said Steinmetz.</p> + +<p>Again the trumpets played the hymn, and a +second Polish regiment went to the help of the +first. In the enclosure a pitched battle with +bayonets was taking place.</p> + +<p>And now, oh Muse, sing of our hero, Bartek,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +that posterity may know of his deeds! The fear, +impatience, and despair of his heart had mingled +into the single feeling of rage, and when he heard +that music each vein stood out in him like cast +iron. His hair stood on end, his eyes shot fire. +He forgot everything that had made up his world; +he no longer cared whether one death was as good +as another. Grasping his rifle firmly in his hands, +he leapt forward with the others. Reaching the +hill he fell down for the tenth time, struck his +nose, and, bespattered with mud and the blood +flowing from his nose, ran on madly and breathlessly, +catching at the air with open mouth. He +stared round, wishing to find some of the French +in the enclosure as quickly as possible, and caught +sight of three standing together near the flags. +They were Turcos. Would Bartek retreat? No, +indeed; he could have seized the horns of Lucifer +himself now! He ran towards them at once, and +they fell on him with a shout; two bayonets, like +two deadly stings, had actually touched his chest +already, but Bartek lowered his bayonet. A +dreadful cry followed,—a groan, and two dark +bodies lay writhing convulsively on the ground.</p> + +<p>At that moment the third, who carried the flag, +ran up to help his two comrades. Like a Fury, +Bartek leapt on him with his whole strength. The +firing flashed and roared in the distance, while +Bartek's hoarse roar rang out through the smoke:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Go to Hell!'</p> + +<p>And again the rifle in his hand described a +fearful semi-circle, again groans responded to his +thrusts. The Turcos retreated in terror at the +sight of this furious giant, but either Bartek misunderstood, +or they shouted out something in +Arabic, for it seemed to him that their thick lips +distinctly uttered the cry: 'Magda! Magda!'</p> + +<p>'Magda will give it you!' howled Bartek, and +with one leap he was in the enemy's midst.</p> + +<p>Happily at that moment some of his comrades +ran up to his assistance. A hand to hand fight now +took place in the enclosure of the vineyard. There +was the crack of rifles at close quarters, and +the hot breath of the combatants sounded through +their nostrils. Bartek raged like a storm. +Blinded by smoke, streaming with blood, more +like a wild beast than a man, and regardless of +everything, he mowed down men at each blow, +broke rifles, cracked heads. His hands moved +with the terrible swiftness of a machine sowing +destruction. He attacked the Ensign, and seized +him by the throat with an iron grip. The Ensign's +eyes turned upwards, his face swelled, his throat +rattled, and his hands let the pole fall.</p> + +<p>'Hurrah!' cried Bartek, and, lifting the flag, +he waved it in the air.</p> + +<p>This was the flag raised aloft and drooping, +which Steinmetz had seen from below.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>But he could only see it for half a second, for in +the next—Bartek had trampled it to shreds. Meanwhile +his comrades were already rushing on ahead.</p> + +<p>Bartek remained alone for a moment. He tore +off the flag, hid it in his breast pocket, and, having +seized the pole in both hands, rushed after his +comrades.</p> + +<p>A crowd of Turcos, shouting in a barbarous +tongue, now fled towards the gun placed on the +summit of the hill, the Macki after them, shouting, +pursuing, striking with butt-end and bayonet.</p> + +<p>The Zouaves, who were stationed by the guns, +received the first men with rifle fire.</p> + +<p>'Hurrah!' shouted Bartek.</p> + +<p>The men ran up to the guns, and a fresh struggle +took place round these. At that moment the +second Polish regiment came to the aid of the first. +The flag pole in Bartek's powerful hands was now +changed into a kind of infernal flail. Each stroke +dealt by it opened a free passage through the +close lines of the French. The Zouaves and +Turcos began to be seized with panic, and they +fled from the place where Bartek was fighting. +Within a few moments Bartek was sitting astride +the gun, as he might his Pognębin mare.</p> + +<p>But scarcely had the soldiers had time to see +him on this, when he was already on the second, +after killing another Ensign who was standing by +it with the flag.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Hurrah, Bartek!' repeatedly exclaimed the +soldiers.</p> + +<p>The victory was complete. All the ammunition +was captured. The infantry fled, and after being +surrounded by Prussian reinforcements on the +other side of the hill, laid down their arms.</p> + +<p>Bartek captured yet a third flag during the +pursuit.</p> + +<p>It was worth seeing him, when exhausted, +covered with blood, and blowing like a blacksmith's +bellows, he now descended the hill +together with the rest, bearing the three flags +on his shoulder. The French? Why, what had +not he alone done to them! By his side went +Wojtek, scratched and scarred, so he turned to +him and said:</p> + +<p>'What did you say? Why, they are miserable +wretches; there isn't a scrap of strength in their +bones! They have just scratched you and me +like kittens, and that's all. But how I have bled +them you can see by the ground!'</p> + +<p>'Who would have known that you could be so +brave!' replied Wojtek, who had watched Bartek's +deeds, and began to look at him in quite a +different light.</p> + +<p>But who has not heard of these deeds? History, +all the regiment and the greater number of the +officers. Everybody now looked with astonishment +at this country giant with the flaxen moustache<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +and goggle eyes. The Major himself said +to him, 'Ah, you confounded Pole!' and pulled +his ear, making Bartek grin to his back teeth +with pleasure. When the regiment stood once +more at the foot of the hill, the Major pointed +him out to the Colonel, and the Colonel to Steinmetz +himself.</p> + +<p>The latter noticed the flags, and ordered that +they should be taken charge of; then he began +to look at Bartek. Our friend Bartek again stood +as straight as a fiddle string, presenting arms, +and the old General looked at him and shook his +head with pleasure. Finally he began to say +something to the Colonel; the words 'non-commissioned +officer' were plainly audible.</p> + +<p>'Too stupid, Your Excellency!' answered the +Major.</p> + +<p>'Let us try,' said His Excellency, and turning +his horse, he approached Bartek.</p> + +<p>Bartek himself scarcely knew what was happening +to him: it was a thing unknown in the +Prussian Army for the General to talk to a +Private! His Excellency was the more easily +able to do this, because he knew Polish. Moreover +this Private had captured three flags and two +guns.</p> + +<p>'Where do you come from?' enquired the +General.</p> + +<p>'From Pognębin,' answered Bartek.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Good. Your name?'</p> + +<p>'Bartek Słowik.'</p> + +<p>'Mensch,' explained the Major.</p> + +<p>'Mens!' Bartek tried to repeat.</p> + +<p>'Do you know why you are fighting the +French?'</p> + +<p>'I know, Your Excellency.'</p> + +<p>'Tell me.'</p> + +<p>Bartek began to stammer, 'Because, because—' +Then on a sudden Wojtek's words fortunately +came into his mind, and he burst out with them +quickly, so as not to get confused: 'Because +they are Germans too, only worse villains!'</p> + +<p>His Excellency's face began to twitch as if he +felt inclined to burst out laughing. After a +moment, however, His Excellency turned to the +Major, and said:</p> + +<p>'You are right, Sir.'</p> + +<p>Our friend Bartek, satisfied with himself, remained +standing as straight as a fiddle string.</p> + +<p>'Who won the battle to-day?' the General +asked again.</p> + +<p>'I, Your Excellency,' Bartek answered without +hesitation.</p> + +<p>His Excellency's face again began to twitch.</p> + +<p>'Right, very right, it was you! And here you +have your reward.'</p> + +<p>Here the old soldier unpinned the iron cross +from his own breast, stooped and pinned it on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +to Bartek. The General's good humour was +reflected in a perfectly natural way on the faces +of the Colonel, the Majors, the Captains, down +to the non-commissioned officers. After the +General's departure the Colonel for his own part +presented Bartek with ten thalers, the Major with +five, and so on. Everyone repeated to him +smilingly that he had won the battle, with the +result that Bartek was in the seventh heaven.</p> + +<p>It was a strange thing: the only person who +was not really satisfied with our hero was Wojtek.</p> + +<p>In the evening, when they were both sitting +round the fire, and when Bartek's distinguished +face was bulging as much with pea sausage as +the sausage itself, Wojtek ejaculated in a tone of +resignation:</p> + +<p>'Oh Bartek, what a blockhead you are, because—'</p> + +<p>'But why?' said Bartek, between his bites of +sausage.</p> + +<p>'Why, man, didn't you tell the General that +the French are Germans?'</p> + +<p>'You said so yourself.'</p> + +<p>'And what of that?—'</p> + +<p>Wojtek began to stammer a little—'Well, +though they may be Germans, you needn't have +told him so, because it's always unpleasant—'</p> + +<p>'But I said it about the French, not about +them....'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Ah, because when....'</p> + +<p>Wojtek stopped short, though evidently wishing +to say something further; he wished to explain +to Bartek that it is not suitable when among +Germans to speak evil of them, but somehow his +tongue became entangled.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> + + +<p>A little while later the Royal Prussian Mail +brought the following letter to Pognębin:</p> + +<blockquote><p>May Jesus Christ and His Holy Mother be praised.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Magda!</span> What news of you? It is all right for +you to be able to rest quietly in bed at home, but I am +fighting horribly hard here. We have been surrounding the +great fort of Metz, and there was a battle, and I did for +so many of the French that all the Infantry and Artillery +were astonished. And the General himself was astonished, +and said that I had won the battle, and gave me a cross. +And the officers and non-commissioned officers respect me +very much now, and rarely box my ears. Afterwards we +marched on further, and there was a second battle, but I +have forgotten what the town was called; there also I +seized and carried off four flags, and knocked down one of +the biggest Colonels in the Cuirassiers, and took him +prisoner. And as our regiment is going to be sent home, +the Sergeant has advised me to ask to be transferred and to +stay on here, for in war it is only sleep you do not get, but +you may eat as much as you can stand, and in this country +there is wine everywhere, for they are a rich nation. We +have also burnt a town and we did not spare even women +or children, nor did I. The church was burnt on purpose, +because they are Catholics, and very wicked people. We are +now going on to the Emperor himself, and that will be the +end of the war, but you take care of the cottage and Franek, +for if you do not take care of it, then I will beat you till +you have learnt what sort of a man I am. I commend you +to God.</p> + +<div class="signature"> +Bartłomiej Słowik.<br /> +</div></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<p>Bartek was evidently developing a taste for +war, and beginning to regard it as his proper +trade. He felt greater confidence in himself, and +now went into battle as he might have gone to +his work at Pognębin. Medals and crosses covered +his breast, and although he did not become +a non-commissioned officer, he was universally +regarded as the foremost Private in the regiment. +He was always well disciplined, as before, and +possessed the blind courage of the man who +simply takes no account of danger. The courage +actuating him was no longer of the same kind as +that which had filled him in his first moments of +fury, for it now sprang from military experience +and faith in himself. Added to this his giant +strength could endure all kinds of fatigue, +marches, and overstrain. Men fell at his side, +he alone went on unharmed, only working all the +harder and developing more and more into the +stern Prussian soldier. He now not only fought +the French, but hated them. Some of his other +ideas also changed. He became a soldier-patriot, +blindly extolling his leaders. In another letter to +Magda he wrote:</p> + +<blockquote><p>Wojtek is divided in his opinion, and so there is a quarrel +between us, do you understand? He is a scoundrel, too, +because he says that the French are Germans, but they are +French, and we are Germans.</p></blockquote> + +<p>Magda, in her reply to both letters, set about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +abusing him with the first words that came into +her head.</p> + +<blockquote><p>Dearest Bartek (she wrote), married to me before the +holy Altar! May God punish you! You yourself are a +scoundrel, you heathen, going with those wretches to murder +half a nation of Catholics. Do you not understand, then, +that those wretches are Lutherans, and that you, a Catholic, +are helping them? You like war, you ruffian, because you +are able now to do nothing but fight, drink, and illtreat +others, and to go without fasting; and you burn churches. +But may you burn in Hell for that, because you are even +proud of it, and have no thought for old people or children. +Remember what has been written in golden letters in the +Holy Scriptures about the Polish nation, from the beginning +of the world to the Judgment Day,—when God most High +will have no regard for sluggards,—and restrain yourself, +you Turk, that I may not smash your head to pieces. I have +sent you five thalers, although I have need of them here, +for I do not know which way to turn, and the household +savings are getting short. I embrace you, dearest Bartek.</p> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Magda.</span><br /> +</div></blockquote> + +<p>The moral contained in these lines made little +impression on Bartek. 'The wife does not remember +her vows,' he thought to himself, 'and +is meddling.' And he continued to make war on +the aged. He distinguished himself in every +battle so greatly, that finally he again came under +the honoured notice of Steinmetz. Ultimately +when the shattered Polish regiment was sent back +into the depths of Germany, he took the sergeant's +advice of applying for leave to be transferred, and +stayed behind. The result of this was that he +found himself outside Paris.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + +<p>His letters were now full of contempt for the +French. 'They run away like hares in every +battle,' he wrote to Magda, and he wrote the +truth. But the siege did not prove to his taste. +He had to dig or to lie in the trenches round +Paris for whole days, listening to the roar of the +guns, and often getting soaked through. Besides, +he missed his old regiment. In the one to which +he had been transferred as a volunteer, he was +surrounded by Germans. He knew some German, +having already learnt a little at the factory, but +only about five in ten words; now he quickly +began to grow familiar with it. The regiment +nicknamed him 'the Polish dog,' however, and it +was only his decorations and his terrifying fists +which shielded him from disagreeable jokes. +Nevertheless, he earned the respect of his new +comrades, and began little by little to make friends +with them. Since he covered the whole regiment +with glory, they ultimately came to look upon him +as one of themselves. Bartek would always have +considered himself insulted if anyone called him +German, but in thinking of himself in distinction +to the French he called himself 'ein Deutscher.' +To himself he appeared entirely distinct, but at the +same time he did not wish to pass for worse than +others. An incident occurred, nevertheless, which +might have given him plenty to reflect upon, had +reflection come more easily to this hero's mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +Some Companies of his regiment had been sent +out against some volunteer sharpshooters, and +laid an ambush for them, into which they fell. +But the detachment was composed of veteran +soldiers, the remains of some of the foreign regiments, +and this time Bartek did not see the dark +caps running away after the first shots. They +defended themselves stubbornly when surrounded, +and rushed forward to force their way through +the encircling Prussian soldiery. They fought so +desperately that half of them cut their way +through, and knowing the fate that awaited captured +sharpshooters, few allowed themselves to +be taken alive. The Company in which Bartek +was serving therefore only took two prisoners. +These were lodged overnight in a forester's house, +and the next day they were to be shot. A small +guard of soldiers stood outside the door, but +Bartek was stationed in the room under the open +window with the prisoners, who were bound.</p> + +<p>One of the prisoners was a man no longer +young, with a grey moustache, and a face expressing +indifference to everything; the other appeared +to be about twenty-two years of age. With his +fair moustache yet scarcely showing, his face was +more like a woman's that a soldier's.</p> + +<p>'Well, this is the end of it,' the young man +said after a while, 'a bullet through your head—and +it's all over!'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<p>Bartek shuddered until the rifle in his hand +rattled; the youth talked Polish.</p> + +<p>'It is all the same to me,' the second answered +in a gruff voice, 'as I live, all the same! I have +lived so long, I have had enough.'</p> + +<p>Bartek's heart beat quicker and quicker under +his uniform.</p> + +<p>'Listen, then,' the older man continued, 'there +is no help for it. If you are afraid, think about +something else, or go to sleep. Enjoy what you +can. As God loves me, I don't care!'</p> + +<p>'My mother will grieve for me,' the youth +replied low; and, evidently wishing to suppress +his emotion, or else to deceive himself, he began +to whistle. He suddenly interrupted this, and +cried in a voice of deep despair, 'I did not even +say good-bye!'</p> + +<p>'Then did you run away from home?'</p> + +<p>'Yes. I thought the Germans would be beaten, +so there would be better things coming for +Poland.'</p> + +<p>'And I thought the same. But now—'</p> + +<p>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. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +lamp, 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.</p> + +<p>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? Then <i>he</i> would be shot! Good +God! what was happening to him? He was so +overcome by pity that he could not remain in the +room.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +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!'</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>All the while the wood was moaning more +loudly, the wind whistling more mournfully.</p> + +<p>The elder prisoner suddenly whispered, 'That +wind—like the Spring at home.'</p> + +<p>'Leave me in peace!' the young man said in +a Pognębin voice.</p> + +<p>After a moment, however, he repeated several +times:</p> + +<p>'At home, at home, at home! God! God!'</p> + +<p>Deep sighs mingled with the listening wind, +and the prisoners lay silent once more.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!'</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>At that moment the elder prisoner turned +wearily on to his side, and said, 'Good-night, +Władek.' Silence followed. An hour passed.</p> + +<p>The wind played like the Pognębin organ. The +prisoners lay silent. Suddenly the younger prisoner, +raising himself a little by an effort, called, +'Karol?'</p> + +<p>'What?'</p> + +<p>'Are you asleep?'</p> + +<p>'No.'</p> + +<p>'Listen! I am afraid. Say what you like, but +I shall pray.'</p> + +<p>'Pray, then.'</p> + +<p>'Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be +Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come.'</p> + +<p>Sobs suddenly interrupted the young prisoner's +words, yet the broken voice was still heard: +'Thy—will—be—done!'</p> + +<p>'Oh Jesu!' something cried in Bartek, 'Oh +Jesu!'</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>Next day Bartek was drunk all day from early +morning. The following day likewise....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> + + +<p>Some months had <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'passd'">passed</ins>, +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:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i2">Alas, my Jasieńko has gone to the war! he writes me letters;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Alas, and I his wife write to him,—for I cannot see him.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>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 God<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +willed, 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.</p> + +<p>'Is it Bartek,—or not?'</p> + +<p>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!'</p> + +<p>'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.</p> + +<p>The woman began to speak quickly:</p> + +<p>'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!'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>For one moment she tore herself from his neck +and looked at him, then threw herself on to it +again.</p> + +<p>'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!'</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'It's nothing.—A Cuirassier did it for me, but +I did the same for him. I have been in hospital.'</p> + +<p>'Oh Jesu!'</p> + +<p>'Why, it's a mere flea-bite.'</p> + +<p>'But you are starved to death.'</p> + +<p>'Ruhig!' answered Bartek.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>He was in truth emaciated, begrimed and in +rags:—a true conqueror! He swayed too as he +stood.</p> + +<p>'What's wrong with you? Are you drunk?'</p> + +<p>'I—am still weak.'</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'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!'</p> + +<p>At the word, 'halt,' he gave such a shrill shout +that the woman recoiled several steps.</p> + +<p>'Are you mad?'</p> + +<p>'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?'</p> + +<p>'Man, what's up with you?'</p> + +<p>'What's that to you! Was? "Doné diner," +do you understand?'</p> + +<p>A storm began to gather on Magda's brow.</p> + +<p>'What rubbish are you jabbering? What's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +this,—you don't know Polish? That's all through +those wretches. I said how it would be! What +have they done to you?'</p> + +<p>'Give me something to eat!'</p> + +<p>'Be quick indoors.'</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'Well, what do you want, Magda? What do...?'</p> + +<p>'Quick! March!'</p> + +<p>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. So<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +now when the rumour spread that the conqueror +was at the inn, all his old comrades hastened there +to welcome him.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'Do you remember, you fellows, that time I +did for the French, what Steinmetz said?'</p> + +<p>'How could we forget?'</p> + +<p>'People used to talk about the French, and be +frightened of them, but they are a poor lot—<i>was</i>? +They run like hares into the lettuce, and run away +like hares too. They don't drink beer either, +nothing but strong wine.'</p> + +<p>'That's it!'</p> + +<p>'When we burnt a town they would wring their +hands immediately and cry "Pitié, pitié,"<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> as if +they meant they would give us a drink if we +would only leave them alone. But we paid no +attention to them.'</p> + +<p>'Then can one understand their gibberish?' +enquired a young farmer's lad.</p> + +<p>'You wouldn't understand, because you are +stupid, but I understand. "Doné di pę!"<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> Do +you understand?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + +<p>'But what did you do?'</p> + +<p>'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.'</p> + +<p>Maciej Kierz, the wise old innkeeper of Pognębin, +began to shake his head.</p> + +<p>'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.'</p> + +<p>Bartek stared at him.</p> + +<p>'What do you say?'</p> + +<p>'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.'</p> + +<p>'But that's not true!' Bartek said.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'Who are you, to quarrel with Maciej? Who +are you—?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + +<p>'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—<i>was</i>? But let +Maciej fancy what he likes. We shall be better +off now.'</p> + +<p>Maciej looked at the conqueror for a moment.</p> + +<p>'You Blockhead!' he said.</p> + +<p>Bartek struck his fist on the table, making all +the glasses and pint-pots start up.</p> + +<p>'Still, der Kerl da! Heu! Stroh!'</p> + +<p>'Silence, no row! Ask the Priest or the Count, +Blockhead.'</p> + +<p>'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?'</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>'As if they wouldn't give me anything I want!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +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?'</p> + +<p>Here he again displayed his crosses and medals.</p> + +<p>'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!'</p> + +<p>They slowly prepared for their carouse.</p> + +<p>Bartek began to sing:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i2">Drink, drink, drink,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">As long as in my pocket</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Still the pennies chink!</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Suddenly he took a handful of pence from his +pocket.</p> + +<p>'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—.'</p> + +<p>A tippler's moods are subject to rapid changes. +Bartek unexpectedly raked together the money +from the table, and began to exclaim sadly:</p> + +<p>'Lord, have mercy on the sins of my soul!'</p> + +<p>Then, propping both elbows on the table, and +hiding his head in his hands, he was silent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<p>'What's the matter?' inquired one of the +drinkers.</p> + +<p>'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!'</p> + +<p>A moment of gloomy silence followed. The +men looked at one another in astonishment.</p> + +<p>'What is he saying?' one asked.</p> + +<p>'He is settling something with his conscience.'</p> + +<p>'A man must drink in spite of that war.'</p> + +<p>He filled up his glass of vodka once or twice, +then he spat, and his good humour unexpectedly +returned.</p> + +<p>'Have you ever stood talking to Steinmetz? +But I have! Hurrah!—Drink! Who pays? I do!'</p> + +<p>'You may pay, you drunkard,' sounded +Magda's voice, 'but I will repay you! Never +fear!'</p> + +<p>Bartek looked at his wife with glassy eyes.</p> + +<p>'Have you talked to Steinmetz? Who are you?'</p> + +<p>Instead of replying to him, Magda turned to +the interested listeners, and began to exclaim:</p> + +<p>'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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +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....'</p> + +<p>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!'</p> + +<p>Her last words ended in such a wail, it was +almost like a cadence. But Bartek merely said:</p> + +<p>'Be quiet, or I shall do for you!'</p> + +<p>'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.</p> + +<p>'And you fellows, watch!—'</p> + +<p>But the men were beginning to disperse. The +inn was soon deserted, and only Bartek and his +wife, with her neck stretched forward, remained.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Why do you stretch out your neck like a +goose?' murmured Bartek. 'Go home.'</p> + +<p>'Hit me!' repeated Magda.</p> + +<p>'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:</p> + +<p>'Hit me!'</p> + +<p>'I shan't hit,' replied Bartek's triumphant +voice.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> + + +<p>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 borrowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +for 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Bartek pulled his pipe out of his mouth.</p> + +<p>'Why, Franek, what's the matter with you?'</p> + +<p>'What's the matter?' repeated Franek, sobbing.</p> + +<p>'Why are you crying?'</p> + +<p>'Why shouldn't I cry, when I have had my +ears boxed?'</p> + +<p>'Who boxed your ears?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Who? Why, Herr Boege!'</p> + +<p>Herr Boege filled the post of schoolmaster at +Pognębin.</p> + +<p>'And has he a right to box your ears?'</p> + +<p>'I suppose so, as he did it.'</p> + +<p>Magda, who had been hoeing in the garden, +came through the hedge, and, with the hoe in her +hand, went up to the child.</p> + +<p>'What are you saying?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'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....'</p> + +<p>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:—</p> + +<p>'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....'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<p>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:—</p> + +<p>'I will talk to him!'</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Bartek went up to him very quickly.</p> + +<p>'German, why have you been beating my child? +<i>Was?</i>' he asked.</p> + +<p>Herr Boege took a few steps backwards, +measured him with a glance without a shade of +fear, and said phlegmatically:—</p> + +<p>'Begone, Polish prize-fighter!'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Why have you been beating my child?' repeated +Bartek.</p> + +<p>'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!'</p> + +<p>Bartek, having seized the schoolmaster by the +shoulder, began to shake him roughly, crying in +a hoarse voice:—</p> + +<p>'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?'</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +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:—</p> + +<p>'Help, to the rescue!'</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, however, from out of this fighting +mass Bartek burst forth like fury, making towards +the hedge with all his might.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He returned raging and furious, holding the +stick in the air: they all fled.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'Hurrah!' cried the Germans.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'What has happened?' enquired the newcomers.</p> + +<p>'I have been trying my hand a bit on the +Germans,' Bartek answered. And he fainted.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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:—</p> + +<p>'Oh dear, what did you fight those French for? +You will catch it now, poor fellow, that you will!'</p> + +<p>'Be quiet, stupid!' Bartek answered, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +smiled quite cheerfully to the passers-by as he +drove along.</p> + +<p>'I'll show them who it is they have offended!' +he cried from the carriage.</p> + +<p>And, covered with his medals, he drove along +to the trial like a conqueror.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>In addition to this he had to pay a fine of 150 +marks to the Boege family and 'other injured +colonists.'</p> + +<p>'Nevertheless the prisoner,' wrote the <i>Posener +Zeitung</i> 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.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Bartek in prison quietly recalled +his deeds at Gravelotte, Sedan, and Paris.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +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.'</p> + +<p>Following immediately on this 'Polish question' +the Chamber proceeded to the order of the day.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Difficult times followed for Magda. The fine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>Magda did not know where to turn.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<p>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:—</p> + +<p>'Morgen!'</p> + +<p>'How are you, Herr Just?'</p> + +<p>'What about my money?'</p> + +<p>'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!'</p> + +<p>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.'</p> + +<p>'Well, and how will you repay the fine?'</p> + +<p>'How can I tell?—I might sell the cow.'</p> + +<p>'Then I will lend you some more.'</p> + +<p>'May God Almighty repay you, my dear Sir! +Although you are a Lutheran, you are a good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +man. I speak the truth! If only other Germans +were like you, Sir, one might bless them.'</p> + +<p>'But I don't lend money without interest.'</p> + +<p>'I know, I know.'</p> + +<p>'Then write me one receipt for it all.'</p> + +<p>'You are a kind gentleman, may God repay +you too in the same way.'</p> + +<p>'We will draw up the bill when I go into the +town.'</p> + +<p>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 <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +<i>Posener Zeitung</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>'We are done for all round,' he said to his wife.</p> + +<p>'All round,' she repeated.</p> + +<p>Bartek began to ruminate deeply on the circumstances.</p> + +<p>'It's a cruel injustice to me,' he said.</p> + +<p>'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.'</p> + +<p>'Of <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'couse'">course</ins>, for they are the strongest,' Bartek +said sadly.</p> + +<p>'As I am a plain woman, I tell you God is the +strongest.'</p> + +<p>'In Him is our refuge,' added Bartek.</p> + +<p>They were both silent a moment, then he asked +again:—</p> + +<p>'Well, and what of Just?'</p> + +<p>'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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +has 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.'</p> + +<p>'But will he be back soon?'</p> + +<p>'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?'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps you can decide on something, for you +are a clever woman.'</p> + +<p>'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?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<p>The victor of Gravelotte bent his head. 'Oh +Jesu! Jesu!'</p> + +<p>Magda had a kind heart; Bartek's grief touched +her, so she said quickly:—</p> + +<p>'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!'</p> + +<p>Magda began to smile through her tears.</p> + +<p>'The ground doesn't belong to the Germans,' +she repeated once more.</p> + +<p>'Magda!' Bartek said, looking at her with +wide-open eyes, 'Magda!'</p> + +<p>'What?'</p> + +<p>'But,—because you are ... if....'</p> + +<p>Bartek felt deep gratitude towards her, but he +could not express it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER IX</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'My word, Bartek, how are you?' she exclaimed +gleefully. 'Do you know the Count has +arrived! He was married in Prussia; the young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +lady is a beauty! But he has done well for himself +all round in getting her; fancy,—just fancy!'</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'Well, and what of that?' enquired Bartek.</p> + +<p>'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!—'</p> + +<p>Magda took her handkerchief, and began to +wipe the perspiration from her face. The next +instant she started talking again in a gasping +voice:—</p> + +<p>'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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +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."'</p> + +<p>Bartek began to scratch his neck.</p> + +<p>'But the Germans have got hold of him too.'</p> + +<p>'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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +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?'</p> + +<p>'She is a good lady. There are not many +such!' Bartek said at once.</p> + +<p>'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!'</p> + +<p>'I can't do otherwise,' Bartek replied resolutely.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>'You Polish dog, just you dare to vote for +Count Jarzyński, just you dare!'</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>It was not much further to Pognębin.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER X</h3> + + +<p>'The Election! The Election!'</p> + +<p>Countess Marya Jarzyński's head was full +of it, and she thought, talked and dreamt of +nothing else.</p> + +<p>'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:—</p> + +<p>'Oh, we only do what we can!'</p> + +<p>'Count Józef will be elected,' the nobleman +said with conviction, and the 'great politician' +answered:—</p> + +<p>'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...'</p> + +<p>'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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +for Herr Schulberg owned all the property there), +and Countess Marya was to occupy herself specially +with Pognębin. She was all aglow with the +<i>rôle</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>'Oh lady, my beautiful lady, my dear lady!' +cried Magda, seizing her hands.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'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.'</p> + +<p>'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.'</p> + +<p>'My husband has just told me that he has +repaid Just.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> + +<p>'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.'</p> + +<p>'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.'</p> + +<p>'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!'</p> + +<p>Bartek again kissed the lady's hand, but he +remained silent, and looked as black as night. +The Magistrate was in his mind.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>'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.</p> + +<p>'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?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p>The questions rose and fell like rockets, but +the man threw his cap into the air.</p> + +<p>'The Count is elected!'</p> + +<p>The lady sat down on a bench abruptly, and +pressed her hand to her fast beating heart.</p> + +<p>'Hurrah! Hurrah!' the neighbours shouted, +'Hurrah!'</p> + +<p>The servants rushed out from the kitchen.</p> + +<p>'Hurrah! Down with the Germans! Long live +the Member! And my lady the Member's wife!'</p> + +<p>'But the priest?' someone asked.</p> + +<p>'He will be here directly;' the steward answered, +'they are still counting....'</p> + +<p>'Let us have dinner!' the Hon. Member cried.</p> + +<p>'Hurrah!' several people repeated.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'Well, we still survive!' the neighbour from +Mizerów said.</p> + +<p>At this moment there was a clatter along the +corridor, and the priest entered the drawing room, +followed by old Maciej, of Pognębin.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Welcome! Welcome!' they all cried. 'Well,—how +great?'</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>'Schulberg—elected!'</p> + +<p>A moment of astonishment followed, a volley of +hurried and anxious questions, to which the priest +again replied:</p> + +<p>'Schulberg is elected!'</p> + +<p>'How?—What has happened?—By what +means?—The steward said it was not so.—What +has happened?'</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>'Oh what a misfortune, what a misfortune!' +the assembled guests repeated, striking their foreheads.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Will you tell us how it was?' the host asked +quietly.</p> + +<p>'How could it be otherwise, Sir,' old Maciej +said, 'seeing that even the Pognębin peasants +voted for Schulberg?'</p> + +<p>'Who did so?'</p> + +<p>'What? Those here?'</p> + +<p>'Why, yes; I myself and everyone saw Bartek +Słowik vote for Schulberg.'</p> + +<p>'Bartek Słowik?' the lady said.</p> + +<p>'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.'</p> + +<p>'From such an enlightened village!' the neighbour +from Mizerów said.</p> + +<p>'You see, Sir,' Maciej said, 'others who were +in the war also voted as he did. They say that +they were ordered—'</p> + +<p>'That's cheating, pure cheating!—The election +is void—Compulsion!—Swindling!' cried different +voices.</p> + +<p>The dinner at the Pognębin manor house was +not cheerful that day.</p> + +<p>The host and hostess left in the evening, but +not as yet for Berlin, only for Dresden.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Bartek sat in his cottage, miserable, +sworn at, ill-treated and hated, a stranger even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +to his own wife, for even she had not spoken a +word to him all day.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Count and Countess Jarzyński continued to +enjoy themselves in Dresden.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> +<h2>TWILIGHT</h2> + +<h3>STEFAN ŻEROMSKI</h3> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>In a deep hollow surrounded by sparsely wooded +hills to the east, west and south ran a little brook,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When a new and prudent owner appeared, he +inspected the fields, stick in hand, and frequently +stood still on the marshes, rubbing his nose.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>So from that time Walek and his wife had lived<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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,'<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> 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.</p> + +<p>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.'</p> + +<p>There was nothing to be earned at this time of +year, and the manor house had enough of its own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>From that time forward—beginning when it +grew light—they dug out the four cubic yards, +never stopping work from daybreak until night.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>A thick mist was already gathering in the low-lying +country, chilling the man through as he +worked. The darkness was coming on in unseen +waves, creeping along the slopes of the hills, +gathering to itself the dreary colours of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +stubble-fields, the water-courses, the clefts in the +hills, and the rocks.</p> + +<p>As the waves of mist met, others—white, transparent, +and scarcely visible—which rose from the +marshes, crept along in streaks, winding in balls +round the undergrowth, trembling and curling +over the surface of the water. The cold, damp +wind drove the mist along the bottom of the +valley, till it was stretched out flat like a face +on the canvas of a picture.</p> + +<p>'The mist is coming on,' Walkowa murmured. +It was that moment of twilight, when every form +seems to be visibly reducing itself to dust and +nothingness, when a grey emptiness spreads over +the surface of the earth, looks into the eyes, and +oppresses the heart with unconscious sorrow. +Terror seized Walkowa. Her hair stood on end, +and a shudder passed through her body. The +mists rose like a living thing, stealthily crawling +over towards her; they came up from behind, +retreated, lay in wait, and again crept forward +in more impetuous pursuit. Her hands were +clammy with the damp, it soaked through her +skin to the bone, it irritated her throat, and +tickled her chest. Then she remembered her +child, whom she had not seen since noon. He was +lying asleep,—locked up in a room quite alone,—in +a cradle of lime wood, suspended from the +beams of the ceiling by birch-twigs. Surely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +he was crying now,—choking,—sobbing? The +mother heard that cry, as wailing and pitiful as +that of a solitary bird in a desert place. It +rang in her ears, it tormented a particular spot +in her brain, it tore at her heart. She had not +thought about him all day, for her hard work had +scattered all her thoughts, in fact, it had drained +and annihilated her power of thinking; but now +the uncanny sensations caused by the twilight +compelled her to concentrate herself and fasten +her mind upon this small morsel of humanity.</p> + +<p>'Walek' she said timidly, when the man brought +up the barrow, 'shall I be off to the cottage and +finish scraping the potatoes?'</p> + +<p>Gibała did not answer, as though he had not +heard. He seized the barrow and set forth. +When he returned, the woman implored again: +'Walek, shall I be off?'</p> + +<p>'Eh?' he grumbled carelessly.</p> + +<p>She knew what his anger meant; she knew +that he could catch a man under the ribs, gather +up his skin in handfuls, and, having shaken him +once or twice, throw him down like a stone among +the rushes. She knew he was capable of tearing +the handkerchief from her head, twisting her +hair in a knot round his fist and dragging her +in terror along the road; or, in a fit of absent-mindedness, +of pulling his spade out of the swamp<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +quickly, and cutting her across the head without +considering—whether it had hit, or not hit her.</p> + +<p>But impatient anxiety, kindled to the point of +pain, rose above the fear of punishment. At +moments the woman thought of running away; +it only meant creeping into the little ravine, leaping +across the brooklet, and then making straight +through the fields and plantations. As she stooped +and filled her barrow, she was already escaping +in thought, leaping like a marten, scarcely feeling +the pain of running barefoot across the stubble, +overgrown with thick blackthorn and blackberries. +The sharp clods would sting not only her feet but +her heart. She would come running to the cottage, +and open the bolt with the wooden key; the +warmth and close air of the room would meet her +face; she would clasp the cradle ... Walek +would kill her when he returned to the cottage,—beat +her to death:—but what then? That would +be for later....</p> + +<p>As soon, however, as Walek emerged from the +mist, she was seized afresh by a dread of his +fists. Again she humbly begged him, although +she knew that her tormentor would not set her +free:</p> + +<p>'Perhaps the baby is dead in there.'</p> + +<p>He answered nothing, threw down the strap of +the barrow from his shoulder, approached his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +wife, and, by a movement of the head, pointed +to the stakes up to which they must dig that day. +Then he seized the spade, and began to throw +mud into his barrow, time after time. He worked +without thinking, quickly,—as fast as he could +breathe. When he had filled the barrow he pushed +it forward, running at top speed, and said as he +left:</p> + +<p>'Push yours too, you lazy brute....'</p> + +<p>She took this mild concession to the object of +her love, this brutal goodness, this hardness and +severity as if it had been a caress. For it would +be possible to finish the work far sooner if they +both wheeled the mud. Rapidly and impetuously +she now imitated his movements, like a monkey, +and shovelled up the mud four times more quickly, +no longer drawing on her muscular peasant's +strength, but on her nervous power. Her chest +rattled, dazzling colours passed under her eyelids, +she felt faint, and large burning tears fell from +her eyes into that cold, evil-smelling filth,—tears +of unheeded pain. Every time she struck the +spade into the ground she looked to see if it was +still far to the stakes; her barrow ready, she +seized it, and ran at full tilt after the man.</p> + +<p>The mists rose high; they drew past the rushes +and stood over the tops of the alders in an unmoving +wall. The trees loomed through them as +patches of indefinite colour, astonishingly large,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +but imperfect forms, which ran across the deep +gorge like monstrous, terrible apparitions.</p> + +<p>Their heads fell forward; their hands executed +a uniform movement; their bodies were bowed +to the ground....</p> + +<p>The wheels of the barrows clattered and whined. +Waves of mist like milk when poured into water, +swayed amid the darkening hills.</p> + +<p>The evening star shone low in the sky, and +tremblingly threw its feeble light across the +darkness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> +<h2>TEMPTATION</h2> + +<h3>STEFAN ŻEROMSKI</h3> + + +<p>Countess Anna Krzywosąd—Nasławska's +youngest son had decided to take Holy +Orders. From boyhood he had shown an unusual +fondness for prayer, had been silent and obedient, +and worn an earnest, pious expression. He had +been educated in Rome under the eye of a distant +cousin—a Cardinal—and completed his course at +the seminary there with distinction, when barely +twenty. Having not yet attained the proper age +to hold any spiritual office, he went back to his +own country for the first time for many years, +and stayed at his mother's house.</p> + +<p>He occupied a corner room in the mansion, as +cold and damp as any monastic cell; he slept on +the ground, fasted unceasingly, read Latin books, +very probably scourged himself at nights, and +wore a hair shirt under his shabby cassock. He +was unspeakably good and gentle, forgave injuries, +and was over-modest.</p> + +<p>When he sat down, it was on the very edge +of the chair, as if anxious that when he rose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +quickly his cassock should hinder him and make +him move like a priest; he walked on tiptoe as +if a mystic heel protected him from the dust of +the earth; he shunned society, he murmured a +prayer at the sight of a village girl.</p> + +<p>Every day at dawn he left the house, and went +into the fields. He felt that there he could be in +closest communication with his Creator, there +ecstatic visions came to him most clearly. He +followed the beaten track through numberless +rye-fields to the upland, where a half-ruined little +chapel lay hidden in the shade of the pine forest.</p> + +<p>One morning he went there as usual. The +landscape was still buried in the night-mist, but a +violet streak of daybreak had begun to spread on +the horizon. The bearded rye brushed against +his knees and scattered large dewdrops, yet the +pathway was not damp, being sheltered by the +full drooping ears. The corn, feebly illumined by +the early morning light, rose in great waves along +the hill, where the undulating line of the fields +showed against the wood. The scent of earth +and ripening corn hung on the breeze, bringing a +sense of health, strength, and youth. From the +dark gloom of the huge trees, whose tops were +beginning to break up the expanse of dawning +blue, came the keen, damp breath of the forest. +The seminarist walked along slowly and lazily, +passing his hand over the surface of the rye.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +Sky larks and crested larks rose at his feet, and +dropped again like stones into the thickly-growing +corn.</p> + +<p>The dawn was now tinging the horizon with +a rosy light; it burst forth like a wide flash of +lightning, illuminating the rifts and curves in the +dark clouds which lay idly over the wood. Unexpectedly +hundreds of red firs, crowning the summit +of the hill, emerged tall and grand from the +night, their boughs standing out prominently +against the transparent background of blue, as if +stretching out their arms to the approaching sun.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a thrill passed through the earth. +The next moment a puff of wind, the forerunner +of daybreak, stirred the boughs of the firs, and +announced alike to plant, to grass, and corn—the +coming of the sun.</p> + +<p>It seemed as if the earth were quivering, as if +her heart began to beat. Then the wind spread +its wings, and hovered over the scented trunks, +over the osiers and corn in the distance. A long, +soothing moment of death-like silence followed, +and then that mysterious moment of early dawn, +when each living plant glows in its every part +as if on fire.</p> + +<p>The student walked with his face turned eastwards. +Words of prayer rose from his heart to +his lips as the sap rises to the bark of the pines +when Spring comes. He went up to the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +chapel, opened the grey wooden door, studded +with nails, and fell on his face with outstretched +hands before the picture of Christ, clumsily drawn +by a rustic hand.</p> + +<p>He felt as if his soul had fled from earth to the +very Throne of God. The scales had fallen from +his eyes in a moment: he was gazing on the face +of the Eternal.</p> + +<p>All at once a rough, coarse peasant's song was +heard:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i2">'It was then that I liked you best, Hanka,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">When you bleached yourself in the fields, in the fields, like a gosling.'</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>This was answered by a woman's voice, approaching +from a distance:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i2">'I did not bleach myself, I bleached a linen shirt,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">But you, Kaśka, thought that I was painted.'</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>The young man rose from the ground, and +stood at the door of the chapel. He saw a sturdy +farmer's lad in shirt sleeves, bare-foot, in a +straw hat, and loaded like a horse, with juniper +wood. This strapping fellow was taking up a +kilo of roots—digging out bushes with the clods, +and moistening his hands in the branches. A girl +was going along the path, carrying a load of +weeds on her back. The corners of her petticoat +were turned up and tucked into her belt, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +broad shoulders were bent together under the +heavy burden, only her head, tied round with a +red handkerchief, was raised towards the hill +where the lad was working. When she reached +the turn of the path, he stopped her, pulled down +the hem of her skirt from her waist, and laid her +bundle on the ground. She pushed him away +with her hands, laughing.</p> + +<p>The student shaded his eyes with his hand, but +dropped it again the next minute, as the sound of +the two singing a fresh song echoed through the +glade. It was strange music. The wood, like a +tuned string, seemed to quiver in harmony with +the sound of those two voices:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i2">'In the garden is a cherry tree,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">In the orchard there are two;</span><br /> +<span class="i2">I have loved you, Hanuś, since you were small,</span><br /> +<span class="i2">Nobody else but you.'</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>They went down into the hollow through the +corn, which reached up to their heads, bent towards +one another. Those two heads stood out +in sharp relief against the dark rye, while the +giant, brazen shield of the sun was rising over +the ridge. They walked thus for a long time, +never completely hidden by the corn.</p> + +<p>Tears flowed from under the young man's +closed eyes, and he clenched his hands convulsively.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +Words unknown to him, words known as +longing and the desire for love, forced themselves +unnoticed to his lips.</p> + +<p>In a vision he saw moist eyes and a girl's long +braided hair rising and sinking in some sea +cavern. An unknown force, inexpressibly sweet, +a force which could be neither expelled nor conquered, +rose within him, carrying him far away +into space. His soul threw off its fetters, and +rushed forth in its wild freedom, as a colt starts +for a mad gallop....</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> +<h2>SRUL—FROM LUBARTÓW</h2> + +<h3>ADAM SZYMAŃSKI</h3> + +<h3>I</h3> + + +<p>It happened in the year,...; but no matter +what year. Suffice it to say that it happened, +and that it happened at Yakutsk in the beginning +of November, about a month after my arrival at +that citadel of frosts. The thermometer was +down to 35 degrees Réamur. I was therefore +thinking anxiously of the coming fate of my nose +and ears, which, fresh from the West, had been +making silent but perceptible protests against +their compulsory acclimatization, and to-day were +to be submitted to yet further trials. These latest +trials were due to the fact that one of the men +in our colony, Peter Kurp, nicknamed Bałdyga,<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> +had died in the local hospital two days before, +and early that morning we were going to do him +a last service, by laying his wasted body in the +half-frozen ground.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> + +<p>I was only waiting for an acquaintance, who +was to tell me the hour of the funeral, and I had +not long to wait. Having wrapped up my nose +and ears with the utmost care, I set out with the +others to the hospital.</p> + +<p>The hospital was outside the town. In the +courtyard, and at some distance from the other +buildings, stood a small shed—the mortuary.</p> + +<p>In this mortuary lay Bałdyga's body.</p> + +<p>When the doors were opened, we entered, and +the scene within made a painful impression on +the few of us present. We were about ten people, +possibly a few more, and we all involuntarily +looked at one another: we were standing opposite +a cold and bare reality, not veiled by any vestige +of pretence....</p> + +<p>In the shed,—which possessed neither table +nor stool, nothing but walls white with hoarfrost +and a floor covered with snow,—lay a large +bearded corpse, equally white, and tied up in some +kind of sheet or shirt. This was Bałdyga.</p> + +<p>The body, which was completely frozen, had +been brought near the light to the door, where +the coffin was standing ready.</p> + +<p>Never shall I forget Bałdyga's face as I saw +it then with the light full upon it, and washed +by the snow. There was something strange and +indescribably sad in the rough, strongly marked +countenance; the large pupils and projecting eyeballs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +seemed to look far away into the distance +towards the stern frosty sky.</p> + +<p>'That man,—he was a good sort,' one of those +present said to me, noticing the impression which +the sight of Bałdyga made on me. 'He was +always steady and industrious; people who were +hard up used to go to him and he would help +them. But there never was anyone so obstinate +as Kurp: he believed to the last that he would +go back to the Narev.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> Yet before the end came +it was plain that he knew he would never get +there.'</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the petrified body had been laid in +the coffin, and placed upon the small one-horse +Yakut sledge.</p> + +<p>Then the tailor's wife—a person versed in +religious practices,—undertook the office of priest +for such time as we could give her, and began +to sing 'Ave Maria,' while we joined in with +voices broken with emotion. After this we proceeded +to the cemetery.</p> + +<p>We walked quickly; the frost was invigorating, +and made us hasten our steps. At last we reached +the cemetery. We each threw a handful of frozen +earth on to the coffin.... A few deft strokes +of the spade ... and in a moment only a small +freshly turned mound of earth remained to bear +witness to Bałdyga's yet recent existence in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +world. This witness would not last long, however,—scarcely +a few months. The spring would +come, and, thawed by the sun, the mound on the +grave would sink and become even with the rest +of the ground, and grass and weeds would grow +upon it. After a year or two the witnesses of +the funeral would die, or be dispersed throughout +the wide world, and if even the mother who bore +him were to search for him, she would no longer +find a trace on the earth. But, indeed, none +would seek for the dead man, nor even a dog +ask for him.</p> + +<p>Bałdyga had known this; we knew it too: +and we dispersed to our houses in silence.</p> + +<p>The day following the funeral the frost was +yet more severe. There was not a single building +to be seen on the opposite side of the fairly +narrow street in which I lived, for a thick mist +of snow crystals overspread the earth, like a +cloud. The sun could not penetrate this mist, +and although there was not a living soul in the +street, the air was so highly condensed through +the extreme cold that I continually heard the +metallic sound of creaking snow, the sharp reports +of the walls and ground cracking in the frost, or +the moaning song of a Yakut. Evidently those +Yakut frosts were beginning, which reduce the +most terrible Arctic cold to insignificance. They +fill human beings with unspeakable dread. Every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +living thing feels its utter helplessness, and +although it cowers down and shrinks into itself +for protection, knows quite well—like the cur +worried by fierce mastiffs,—that all is in vain, for +sooner or later the inexorable foe is bound to be +victorious.</p> + +<p>And Bałdyga was continually in my mind, as if +he were alive. I had sat for hours at my half-finished +task. Somehow I could not stick to +work; the pen fell from my hand, and my unruly +thoughts ranged far away beyond the snowy +frontier and frosty ground. In vain I appealed +to my reason, in vain I repeated wholesome +advice to myself for the tenth time. Hitherto +I had offered some resistance to the sickness +which had consumed me for several weeks; to-day +I felt completely overcome and helpless. Homesickness +was devouring and making pitiless havoc +of me.</p> + +<p>I had been unable to resist dreaming so many +times already; was it likely I should withstand +the temptation to-day? The temptation was +stronger, and I was weaker than usual.</p> + +<p>So begone frost and snow, begone the existence +of Yakutsk! I threw down my pen, and surrounding +myself with clouds of tobacco smoke, +plunged into the waters of feverish imagination.</p> + +<p>And how it carried me away!... My +thoughts fled rapidly to the far West, across<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +morasses and steppes, mountains and rivers, +across countless lands and cities, and spread a +scene of true enchantment before me. There on +the Vistula lay my native plains, free from misery +and human passions, beautiful and harmonious. +My lips cannot utter, nor my pen describe their +charm!</p> + +<p>I saw the golden fields, the emerald meadows; +the dense forests murmured their old legends to +me.</p> + +<p>I heard the rustle of the waving corn; the +chirping of the feathered poets; the sound of +the giant oaks as they haughtily bid defiance to +the gale.</p> + +<p>And the air seemed permeated by the scent of +those aromatic forests, and those blossoming +fields, adorned in virgin freshness by the blue +cornflowers and that sweetest beauty of Spring,—the +innocent violet.</p> + +<p>... Every single nerve felt the caress of my +native air.... I was touched by the life-giving +power of the sun's rays; and although the frost +outside creaked more fiercely, and showed its +teeth at me on the window panes more menacingly, +yet the blood circulated in my veins more +rapidly, my head burnt, and I sat as if spellbound, +deaf, no longer seeing or hearing anything round +me....</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> +<h3>II</h3> + + +<p>I did not notice that the door opened and +someone entered my room, neither did I see the +circles of vapour, which form in such numbers +every time a door is opened that they obscure the +face of the person entering. I did not feel the +cold: it penetrates human dwellings here with a +sort of shameless, premeditated violence. In fact, +I had seen or heard nothing until suddenly I felt +a man close to me, and even before catching sight +of him, found myself involuntarily putting him +the usual Yakut question:</p> + +<p>'Toch nado?' ('What do you want?')</p> + +<p>'If you please, Sir, I am a hawker,' was the +answer.</p> + +<p>I looked up. Although he was dressed in ox +and stag's hide, I had no doubt that a typical +Polish Jew from a small town stood before me. +Anyone who had seen him at Lossitz or Sarnak +would have recognized him as easily in Yakut +as in Patagonian costume. I knew him at once. +And since, as I have said, I was as yet only semi-conscious, +and had asked the question almost +mechanically, the Jew now standing before me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +did not interrupt my train of thought too harshly; +the contrast was, therefore, not too disagreeable. +Quite the reverse. I gazed into the well-known +features with a certain degree of pleasure; the +Jew's appearance at that moment seemed quite +natural, since it carried me in thought and feeling +to my native land, and the few Polish words +sounded dear to my ear. Half dreaming still, +I looked at him kindly.</p> + +<p>The Jew stood still for a moment, then turned, +and retreating to the door, began to pull off his +multifarious coverings.</p> + +<p>Then I came to myself, and realized that I +had not yet answered him, and that my sagacious +countryman, quite misinterpreting my silence, was +anxious to dispose of his wares to me. I hastened +to undeceive him.</p> + +<p>'In heaven's name, man, what are you doing?' +I cried quickly, 'I do not want to buy anything; +I am not wanting anything. Do not unload yourself +in vain, and go away with God's blessing!'</p> + +<p>The Jew stopped undoing his things, and after +a moment's consideration, came towards me with +his long fur coat<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> half trailing behind him, and +began to mumble quickly in broken sentences: +'It's all right; I know you won't buy anything, +Sir. I saw you, for I have been here a long +time, a very long time.... I didn't know before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +that you had come.... You come from Warsaw, +don't you, Sir? They only told me yesterday +evening that you had been here four months +already; what a pity it was such a time before +I heard of it! I should have come at once. I +have been searching for you to-day for an hour, +Sir. I went quite to the end of the town,—and +there's such a frost here,—confound it!... If +you will allow me Sir,—I won't interrupt for +long?... Only just a few words....'</p> + +<p>'What do you want of me?'</p> + +<p>'I should only like to have a little chat with +you, Sir.'</p> + +<p>This answer did not greatly surprise me. I +had already come across not a few people, Jews +among them, who had called solely for the purpose +of 'having a little chat' with a man recently +arrived from their country. Those who came +were interested in the most varied topics imaginable; +there were the inquisitive gossipers pure +and simple, there were the people who only enquired +after their relations, and there were the +politicians, including those whose heads had been +turned. Among those who came, however, politics +always played a specially important part. So it +did not surprise me, I repeat, to hear the wish +expressed by a fresh stranger, and although I +should have been glad to rid my cottage as quickly +as possible of the unpleasant odour of the ox-hide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +coat,—badly tanned, as usual—I begged him in +a friendly way to take it off and sit down.</p> + +<p>The Jew was evidently pleased. He took a +seat beside me at once and I could now observe +him closely.</p> + +<p>All the usual features of the Jewish race were +united in the face beside me: the large, slightly +crooked nose and penetrating hawk's eyes, the +pointed beard of the colour of a well-ripened +pumpkin, the low forehead, surrounded by thick +hair; all these my guest possessed. And yet, +strange to say, the haggard face expressed a +certain frank sincerity, and did not make a disagreeable +impression on me.</p> + +<p>'Tell me where you come from, what your name +is, what you are doing here, and why you wish +to see me?'</p> + +<p>'Please, Sir, I am Srul, from Lubartów. Perhaps +you know it,—just a stone's throw from +Lublin?—Well, at home everyone thinks it a long +way from there, and formerly I thought so too. +But now,' he added with emphasis, 'we know +that Lubartów is quite close to Lublin, a mere +stone's throw.'</p> + +<p>'And have you been here long?'</p> + +<p>'Very long; three good years.'</p> + +<p>'That is not so very long; there are people +who have lived here for over 20 years, and I met +an old man from Vilna in the road, who had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +here close upon 50 years. Those have really been +a long time.'</p> + +<p>But the Jew snubbed me. 'As to them, I can't +say. I only know that I have been here a long +time.'</p> + +<p>'You must certainly live quite alone, if the time +seems so long to you?'</p> + +<p>'With my wife and child—my daughter. I +had four children when I set out, but, may the +Lord preserve us, it was such a long way, we +were travelling a whole year. Do you know what +such a journey means, Sir?... Three children +died in one week—died of travelling, as it were. +Three children!... An easy thing to say!... There +was nowhere even to bury them, for there +was no cemetery of ours there.... I am a +Husyt,' he added more quietly. 'You know +what that means Sir?... I keep the Law +strictly ... and yet God punishes me like this....' +He grew silent with emotion.</p> + +<p>'My friend,' I tried to say to console him a +little,—'no doubt under such circumstances it is +difficult to remember that it makes no difference; +but all earth is hallowed.'</p> + +<p>But the Jew jumped as if he had been scalded.</p> + +<p>'Hallowed! how hallowed! In what way is it +hallowed! What are you saying, Sir? It's unclean! +It's damned!... Hallowed earth?... +You must not talk like that, Sir, you ought to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +be ashamed! Is earth hallowed, which never +thaws? This earth is cursed! God doesn't wish +human beings to live here; it wouldn't have been +like this, if He had wished it. Cursed! Bad! +Damned! Damned!'</p> + +<p>And he began to spit about him, and stamp +his feet, threatening the innocent Yakut earth +with tightened lips and his shrivelled hands, and +muttering Jewish maledictions. At last, exhausted +by the effort, he fell rather than sat +down at the table beside me.</p> + +<p>All exiles, without regard to religion or race, +dislike Siberia: evidently a fanatic does not learn +to hate it half-heartedly. I paused until he had +calmed himself. Educated in a severe school, the +Jew quickly regained his self-possession and +mastered his emotion, and when I gazed questioningly +into his eyes the next moment, he +immediately answered me:</p> + +<p>'You must pardon me; I do not speak of this +to anyone, for to whom should I speak here?'</p> + +<p>'Then are there very few Jews here?'</p> + +<p>'Those here? Do you call them Jews, Sir? +They're such low fellows, not one of them keeps +the Law strictly.'</p> + +<p>Fearing another outburst, I would not, however, +allow him to finish, and decided to change +the conversation by asking him straight out what +he wanted to talk to me about now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I should like to know the news from there, +Sir. I have been here so many years, and I have +never yet heard what is going on there.'</p> + +<p>'You are asking a good deal, for I can't exactly +tell you everything. I don't know what interests +you,—politics perhaps?'</p> + +<p>The Jew was silent.</p> + +<p>I concluded that my present guest, like many of +the others, was interested in politics; but as I +myself did not understand the very elements of +the subject, I began to give the stereotyped +account I had already composed with a view to +frequent repetition of the situation of European +politics, our own,<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> and so forth. But the Jew +fidgeted impatiently.</p> + +<p>'Then this does not interest you?' I asked.</p> + +<p>'I have never thought about it,' he answered +candidly.</p> + +<p>'Ah, now I know why you have come! I am +sure you wish to know how the Jews are doing, +and how trade is going?'</p> + +<p>'They are better off than I am.'</p> + +<p>'Exactly. I am sure, under the circumstances, +you will wish to know if living is dear with us, +what the market prices are, how much for butter, +meat, etc.'</p> + +<p>'What does it concern me if it is ever so cheap +there, if I can get nothing here?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Quite right again; but what the devil did you +actually come here for?'</p> + +<p>'Since I don't know myself, I ask you, Sir, how +I am to tell you? You see, Sir, I often get thinking ... I +think so much ... that Ryfka (that's +my wife) asks, "Srul, what's the matter with +you?" And what can I tell her, for I don't know +myself what it is. Perhaps some people would +laugh at me?' he added, as if fearing I were +amongst them.</p> + +<p>But I did not laugh; I was interested. Something, +the cause of which he himself could not +explain or express in words, was evidently weighing +on him, and his unusually poor command of +language added to this difficulty. In order to +help him I re-assured him by telling him that I +was in no hurry, as my work was not urgent and +there would therefore be no harm in our having +an hour's talk, and so on.—The Jew thanked me +with a glance, and after a moment's thought +opened the conversation thus:</p> + +<p>'When did you leave Warsaw, Sir?'</p> + +<p>'According to the Russian calendar, at the end +of April.'</p> + +<p>'Was it cold there then or warm?'</p> + +<p>'Quite warm. I travelled in a summer suit +at first.'</p> + +<p>'Well, just fancy, Sir! Here it was freezing!'</p> + +<p>'Then you have forgotten, is that it? Anyway,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +with us the fields are sown in April, and all the +trees are green.'</p> + +<p>'Green?' Joy shone in Srul's eyes. 'Why, +yes, yes—green:—and here it was freezing!'</p> + +<p>Now at last I knew why he had come to me. +Wishing to make certain, however, I was silent: +the Jew was evidently getting animated.</p> + +<p>'Well, Sir, you might tell me if there is any—with +us now ... but you see, I don't know what +it's called; I have already forgotten Polish,' he +apologized shyly, as if he had ever known it—'it's +white like a pea blossom, yet it's not a pea, +and in summer it grows in gardens round houses, +on those tall stalks?'</p> + +<p>'Kidney beans?'</p> + +<p>'That's just it! Kidney beans! Kidney beans!' +he repeated to himself several times, as if wishing +to impress those words on his memory for ever.</p> + +<p>'Of course there are plenty of those. But are +there none here?'</p> + +<p>'Here! I have never seen a single pod all these +past three years. Here the peas are what at +home we should not expect the ... the....'</p> + +<p>'The pigs to eat,' I suggested.</p> + +<p>'Well, yes! Here they sell them by the pound, +and it's not always possible to get them.'</p> + +<p>'Are you so fond of kidney beans?'</p> + +<p>'It's not that I am so fond of them, but they +are so beautiful that ... I don't know why ...<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +I often get thinking and thinking how they may +be growing round my house. Here there's +nothing!'</p> + +<p>'And now, Sir,' he recommenced, 'will you tell +me, if those small grey birds are still there in the +winter,—like this—' and he measured with his +hand. 'I have forgotten their names too. Formerly +there were a great many, when I used to +pray by the window. They used to swarm round! +Well, whoever even looked at them there? Do +you know, Sir, I could never have believed that +I should ever think about them! But here, where +it's so cold that even the crows won't stop, you +can't expect to see little things like that. But +they are sure to be there with us? They are there, +aren't they, Sir?...'</p> + +<p>But I did not answer him now. I no longer +doubted that this old fanatical Jew was pining for +his country just as much as I was, and that we +were both sick with the same sickness. This +unexpected discovery moved me deeply, and I +seized him by the hand, and asked in my turn:</p> + +<p>'Then that was what you wished to talk to me +about? Then you are not thinking of the people, +of your heavy lot, of the poverty which is pinching +you; but you are longing for the sun, for the air +of your native country!... You are thinking +of the fields and meadows and woods; of the little +songsters, for whom you could not spare a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +moment's attention there when you were busy, +and now that these beautiful pictures are fading +from your recollection, you fear the solitude surrounding +you, the vast emptiness which meets +you and effaces the memories you value? You +wish me to recall them to you, to revive them; +you wish me to tell you what our country is +like?...'</p> + +<p>'Oh yes, Sir, yes, Sir! That was why I came +here,' and he clasped my hands, and laughed +joyfully, like a child.</p> + +<p>'Listen, brother....'</p> + +<p>And my friend, Srul, listened, all transformed +by listening, his lips parted, his look rivetted to +mine; he kindled, he inspired me by that look; +he wrested the words from me, drank them in +thirstily, and laid them in the very depth of his +burning heart.... I do not doubt that he laid +them there, for when I had finished my tale he +began to moan bitterly, 'O weh mir! weh mir!' +He struck his red beard, and in his misery tears +like a child's rolled fast down his face.... And +the old fanatic sat there a long time sobbing, and +I cried with him....</p> + +<p>Much water has flowed down the cold Lena +since that day, and not a few human tears have +rolled down suffering cheeks. All this happened +long ago. Yet in the silence of the night, at +times of sleeplessness, the statuesque face of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +Bałdyga, bearing the stigma of great sorrow, +often rises before me, and invariably beside it +Srul's yellow, drawn face, wet with tears. And +when I gaze longer at that night-vision, many a +time I seem to see the Jew's trembling, pale lips +move, and I hear his low voice whisper:</p> + +<p>'Oh Jehovah, why art thou so unmerciful to +one of Thy most faithful sons?...'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> +<h2>IN AUTUMN</h2> + +<h3>WACŁAW SIEROSZEWSKI</h3> + + +<p>The rain and bad weather, which had continued +without interruption for several days, +had kept the inhabitants of the hut, 'Talaki,'<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> +prisoners indoors, and condemned them to idleness. +They constantly went out of the room +to gaze long and sadly at the weeping sky, for +the hay was rotting in the fields;—but alas! +a grey film of rain hung over all the surrounding +country, and in vain their eyes sought longingly +for the smallest chink of blue in the heavy, dark +clouds.</p> + +<p>To add to the misfortune, the rain, not content +with the holes left in the roof from the year before, +made a number of fresh ones. It thus poured +into the room from all sides on to people's heads +and shoulders, and formed quite a deep and ever-growing +pool underfoot. Various forms of filth, +remains of food, refuse of fish and game, the +dung in the corner where the calves were kept, +which had been trodden down and had dried in the +course of the year, became moist, and filled the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +interior of the 'yurta'<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> with an unbearable smell. +It was therefore stuffy, cold, and damp there. +The fire, burning rather slowly, was choked by +balls of grey smoke, which went across the room.</p> + +<p>The hut was tiny; it occupied no more than +twenty-four square yards of the solitude surrounding +it. The slanting walls, made of barked +larch trees placed perpendicularly, and narrowing +towards the top, diminished its size still more. +The flat roof was built of rafters of the same +wood, and came down so close to the inhabitants' +heads that one of them, Michawio, a big lad, +while unwinding a bundle of nets at the little +window, hit his curly shock head against it.</p> + +<p>A plank partition, hewn out with a hatchet, +ran through the centre of the room, and divided +it into equal parts, the right being for the men, +the left for the women. By a post at the end of +the room, with his face turned towards the fire, +his hands on his right knee, and smoking a pipe, +sat my host, Kyrsa,<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> a Yakut. Still hale, though +no longer young, he was the wealthy and independent +master of field labourers, and the owner of +the house, of many nets, animals, and implements, +as well as of three women:—a wife, and two +daughters. The youngest was sold already, but +she was living with her father, as the sum agreed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +upon for her had not yet been paid in full by the +buyer.</p> + +<p>There was deep silence in the room,—a rather +unusual thing in a place where several Yakut +people are together. The fire roared and hissed +in the chimney, and behind the partition the girls +made a squeaking sound as they rubbed the skins +together. I had a foreboding that this silence +would end badly; indeed, the storm soon broke +out. The lad nicknamed 'Shmata' brought it on +by his incompetence. After wandering from corner +to corner all day, he now upset a bucket and +spilt the water. This was the last straw. All +eyes flashed, and faces grew pale.</p> + +<p>The frightened Shmata tried to lay the blame +on Michawio, who had been stooping down near +him to look for a strap. Michawio in revenge +reminded Shmata of what had happened about +the rake the year before. The quarrel had begun +in earnest. Their tongues, moving with the speed +of a windmill, and throwing out invectives and +sneers, formed an accompaniment to the host's +threatening shouts, which rang out like the trump +of the Archangel. Nor did our hostess fail to +leave her seclusion to take part in the skirmish +with the excitement peculiar to women all the +world over. The yurta suddenly became like a +disturbed beehive. The host affirmed, the hostess +denied, the labourers hurled abuses at one another,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +the girls uttered war cries, the baby woke up and +screamed in its cradle, and the calves lowed in +answer to the loud mooing of the cows, whom +evening had driven near the house door. This last +occurence had a perceptible influence in diminishing +the noise, for it caused the female element +to withdraw from the fight; in fact, the disturbance +might have been conjured away completely, +if the happy thought of adding something at the +very moment when everyone else was quieting +down, had not entered our host's head.</p> + +<p>This remark burst out unexpectedly, like a +belated bomb after a battle, and produced such +a din that the cows and calves were silent, the +wind abated in fright, the clouds fled, and I +became aware of a golden sunbeam penetrating +the holes in the bladder at the window, and falling +suddenly into the interior of our dark, dirty, noisy +hovel. Merrily and brightly it rested in a shining +circle on the closely cropped grey head of my host, +before whose nose his wife's large closed fist was +hovering at that moment. 'That's for you! Take +that! Go on!' Kuimis cried, still beautiful in +her anger. The fist came closer and closer to +the unfortunate man's mouth.</p> + +<p>What happened further? Did Kyrsa avenge +himself like a man for that greatest of all insults +possible to a Yakut from a woman? Or did he +show himself to be the 'wife of his wife,' an old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +woman and a simpleton, as the neighbours called +him, and refrain from knocking out the teeth or +breaking the ribs of the active woman by whose +work he lived and had grown rich? I do not +know, because, foreseeing the overthrow of my +friend, in whom love for his wife was always +struggling against a sense of duty, and not wishing +to be a witness of his defeat, I shouldered my +gun and went out of the cottage.</p> + +<p>The wind had dropped, the covering of clouds +was torn open, and bits of pale blue sky were +unveiled here and there. The sun peeped out +suddenly through one of these little gaps, and the +landscape, which had been dreary and joyless a +moment before, brightened into a golden splendour. +A light shadow, half cheerful, half sombre, +fell across its faded autumn foliage, and in this +half smile it resembled a forsaken woman, to +whom the caprice of a lover, who has already +grown cold, offers a moment of tenderness and +happiness again. Drops of rain glistened like +brilliants on the dark branches of the trees and +bushes; the sky was coloured in shades of carmine, +and the pearly tears of the passing storm +trembled on the willows, still swaying from it.</p> + +<p>Before me, between two high promontories +overgrown by woods which ran in opposite directions, +sparkled the surface of the lake. In +proportion as it stretched into the distance, its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +bank became more winding, lower, and mistier, +until it disappeared at the outlet of a gorge. +Owing to the distance, the tall, thin larches, the +thick willows, bushes, and grass growing there +looked quite small, but the rays of the sunset, +falling on them from behind, produced a wonderful +lace-work of dark branches and leaves against +a pale-rose sky. Grey clouds hung above them, +heavily embroidered with gold and purple. The +waves sported and chased one another below on +the foam-splashed banks of the lake, which was +painted with colours from the sky.</p> + +<p>I walked towards the gorge, by the footpath +leading through a meadow which was now turning +yellow.</p> + +<p>That 'demons' forest'<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> looked dark and horrible +close at hand. The flat hills, uniformly +covered with soft moss of a dirty green, and +with cranberry leaves, undulated gently westwards +towards the sinking sun. The wood covering +these hills was sparse and stunted, and disfigured +them rather than otherwise, for single trees stood +out here and there like the remaining hair on a +bald man's head. Silence, and the gloom of oncoming +night already filled the interior of the +forest. Only here and there a forgotten ray of +sunshine was burning itself out above in the bare, +wind-twisted summits of the larches.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> + +<p>I stood for a moment, looking at that wild +spot, which no native would have dared to approach. +A deep stillness lay upon it; the waves +beat more and more gently and noiselessly; the +sunset was fading away, and only where the +network of bushes was less close a transient +gleam lighted the surface of some lakes, which +had hitherto been unknown to me. I walked on +towards them, impelled by curiosity and a feeling +of longing.</p> + +<p>The way proved more difficult than I had expected. +At every moment I was obliged to jump +or climb over bushes and avoid the deep, narrow +wells, boarded round with tree-trunks felled a +hundred years before and perfidiously concealed +by the mosses and plants overgrowing them. As +these wells were full of water, with bottoms as +slippery as ice, an unwary pedestrian could easily +break his neck or fracture a leg by falling into +them. In many places swampy streams trickled +along undefined channels, and though their banks +were shallow, they were boggy and difficult to +cross on account of the trunks and branches lying +in them. The wood was full of trees with projecting, +mud-covered roots, which now, when +everything was assuming an indefinite shape in +the twilight, looked twisted and monstrous. The +white patches of lichen shining in the darkness +at the foot of the trees like the immense shreds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +of a pall, emphasized and doubled their weird +appearance. It is, therefore, no wonder that in +the purple light of dawn, or in the moonlight, +the natives should here see the tall wood-demon's +pale face,—the Slav hunter who came from the +South and now roams near the Yakut cottages, +injuring cattle.</p> + +<p>Woe to the district where his shadow passes! +Often from fifty to two hundred beasts fall dead +at one shot from those terrible Southern arms.</p> + +<p>That evening, however, I met none of these +inhabitants of the wood. I also did not see the +'demons,'—the dry Tungus corpses. At one +time they were to be found here quite frequently, +and the forest takes its name from them. Shrivelled +and horrible, they usually sit somewhere +under a tree or cleft in a rock, gazing eastwards +with eye-sockets pecked by the birds. On their +knees they hold a wooden bow, or a rifle, at their +feet lies a hatchet with a broken handle, and at +their belt, inlaid with silver and beads, hangs a +broken knife in its sheath,—also broken, in order +to prevent the dead man from doing any mischief +after death. A little to one side lie scattered the +bones of the reindeer, killed on his grave, the +harness, and the small Tungus sledge. No one +ever dares to possess himself of any of these +considerably valuable articles, for punishment +threatens the foolhardy, inasmuch as he loses his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +way all day long until he returns to the same +place and restores the stolen object. Until they +give ample satisfaction, and atone to the angered +owner by a gift, obstinate people return some +thirty, even a hundred times without being able +to escape from the magic circle. It is dangerous +even to touch any of the things belonging to the +dead man, since that evokes a storm, or, at best, +a high wind. Although the kindly natives had +advised me to avoid meeting with the 'demon,' +since it brings early, and sometimes immediate +death, I was very sorry not to have seized him +red-handed that evening. However, I came to be +severely punished for this sinful wish.</p> + +<p>The twilight deepened. The last purple resplendance +had already faded from the sunset, when +tired and tattered, I at last succeeded in pushing +my way through the bushes of the 'demon's +forest.' The sky was dark, and twinkling with +myriads of stars. My expedition had failed in +every respect. To complete the misfortune, the +white mists hung like muslin over the valley, +and entirely prevented me from satisfying my +curiosity. I was therefore only able to take +pleasure in the play of the moonlight.</p> + +<p>It was really a beautiful view, although rather +wild and gloomy. Nearly the whole of the broad +valley, to the very edge of the wood where the +dark, bare tree-tops projected beyond the border<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +of mist, was filled by white balls of vapour; the +moon was moving slowly above them. Looking +for a moment into the depths of the valley, she +drew aside the floating veil, and touched the +sleeping lake below with her silvery kiss. I stood +a long while to gaze and to rest. The deep +silence, the stillness which always reigns in these +woods, the knowledge that no one but myself +was to be found in that solitude for twenty versts +round, filled me with a strange feeling of anxiety +and longing. I roused myself in order to dispel +this. It was unfortunately time to think of +returning;—no easy matter, however, for in making +my way through the wood, I had lost a clear +conception of the right track. At last I hit on +a small footpath, and decided to follow it in the +hope that it would lead me to some inhabited +spot. I had scarcely gone twenty steps before +becoming persuaded that I was not walking on +a path, but on one of the numerous tracks made +in the wood by water or animals. It was therefore +necessary to return to the place from which +I had started, for only thence could I more or less +trace the way leading in a bee-line through the +wood. But the place had disappeared; the night +had shrouded it in new and different shadows, +and the mist had drawn its silver web across it. +I walked for some time, searching in vain, and +haunted by the thought of forest madness. I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +seen people brought home from the 'taiga'<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> no +longer in possession of their faculties, pale and +miserable, and with the traces of terror and madness +in their eyes. These unhappy men had often +lost their way quite near houses, without seeing +them or being able to recognize the points of the +compass, although the sun was shining, and they +had wandered about, crying and howling like +wild animals. After recovering, they said that +they had seen the demon. One of the causes of +this illness is the fatigue brought on by the strain +of the vain search. So I sat down on a felled +trunk, resolving to wait for daybreak.</p> + +<p>The air was cool. My clothes were wet with +the mist and rain, besides being too thin for +spending the night in the wood, so that I soon +began to suffer from the cold. I tried to light +a fire, but the matches were damp, and the only +one which burnt could not set fire to the moist +brushwood and logs. Having, therefore, gathered +some grass, I hid my feet in it, as they were +suffering the most from the cold; I examined my +gun, and loaded it, and then, crouching against +a tree, I tried to go to sleep.</p> + +<p>In a situation of this kind every sense is rapidly +dulled,—touch, smell, even sight; hearing alone +becomes exceedingly acute. After only a few +minutes I could hear my heart beating, the blood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +pouring through my veins, the whisper of the +trees, the rustle of the mist, so that the dead +silence of the wood was broken in upon by sounds, +which, though scarcely audible, continued to increase. +Suddenly a very real sound rang out +amid these fancied ones, and forced me to open +my eyes. It came from the further end of the +lake, and was like the measured strokes of an oar. +I fixed my eyes on the spot whence it seemed to +come. The veil of mist was trembling slightly, +and beyond it, in the distance, something indistinct +appeared low on the water. After a moment +a small Yakut pirogue emerged from the shadows, +and sped along the lake. I could perfectly well see +the rower squatting in the bottom of the boat, and +striking first with one, then with the other blade +of his long oar, from the ends of which the water +poured in a shining stream, like molten silver.</p> + +<p>He soon approached the bank, and drew the +boat to land. I crept towards him, hiding in +order that he should not see me too soon, and +run away, as I knew he would. He was engaged +in taking something out of the boat.</p> + +<p>'What news?' I greeted him, according to the +local custom, coming slowly out of the bushes.</p> + +<p>He started and exclaimed, but did not run +away, for he recognized me, and I him. He +was a poor Yakut, who lived about five versts +from me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> + +<p>'I know nothing! I have heard nothing! Oh, +how you did frighten me,—but it's all right!' +he said hastily, giving me his hand.</p> + +<p>'What did you think it was?'</p> + +<p>'Why should one meet a man in the wood at +night time?' he answered evasively, eyeing me +suspiciously from head to foot. 'You often think +it's a man you know, and you talk to him as if +you knew him, and then it turns out in the end +not to be a man at all.'</p> + +<p>'What are you doing here so late?'</p> + +<p>'I am going home; it's a holiday to-morrow. +I have a long way to go from here to Babylon<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> +for fishing,—thirty versts. You know we're poor +folk, we live by fishing,—we haven't any horses; +so one is always in a boat, always in a boat. As +I was dragging it through the wood I cut my +foot, so I've got behindhand.'</p> + +<p>'You have cut your foot?'</p> + +<p>'It isn't much, for I've stopped the bleeding.'</p> + +<p>'Then perhaps it was you whistling and calling?' +I asked, remembering a strange sound I +had heard a moment before.</p> + +<p>'I!—No!' He was silent, and I noticed him +lean over the boat, and cross himself.</p> + +<p>'And what are you doing here?' he asked in +his turn.</p> + +<p>I hesitated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Looking for ducks,' I lied, not wishing to +frighten him more.</p> + +<p>'Ducks!' he repeated, laughing heartily, and +his white teeth shone in the darkness like pearls.</p> + +<p>'There have never been any ducks here!'</p> + +<p>'Never been any? Why?' I asked, as I helped +him to draw the boat along the edge of the wood +towards the lake, which could be seen in the distance. +The fisherman was limping.</p> + +<p>'The lakes are different,' he explained, 'and +there are as many lakes in our country as stars +in the sky, and the stars are only the reflection +of them. The lakes are as different as the stars:—there +are large and small ones, and some so +deep that you can't reach the bottom; or else +they are shallow, or marshy. In one there are fine +fish, in another small, in some the water's bad, +and makes a man ill, because the cattle go into +it, in others again it's as pure as air.'</p> + +<p>We halted on the bank, let down the boat into +the water, and entered it, the fisherman in front, +I behind. Leaning lightly against one another, +back to back, we sailed along like a god with +two faces of which one was bearded and European, +the other flat, clean-shaven, and Mongolian.</p> + +<p>The Mongolian face continued its conversation, +only interrupting it now and then to give me a +warning not to move when the boat rocked too +much.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Everything comes from the water. Even the +cow lived in the water until she was taken and +tamed by man. There are different kinds of +wild beasts and even people living in the water, +as there are on land. Now just look!' and he +pointed with his oar to the long water-weeds +swaying under the passage of the pirogue. 'Isn't +that a wood?' It was indeed a wood, dark and +mysterious, visited only by fishes and drowned +men. Once he had fallen in, no swimmer ever +extricated himself from its thickets.</p> + +<p>'Old people say,' the Yakut continued, 'that +formerly everything was different,—everything +was better, because there was more water, and +that even the sables used to come up to the farm +gates, and there was so much fish that it was +enough to shoot an arrow into the lake to draw +it back with a good catch. But now there's +nothing; the sables have run away, and there +isn't much fish. It's only the traders, our fathers, +who save us, or we should die. They give the +money to pay the taxes, they give tea, tobacco, +and cotton. Eh yes! these traders! I'd just like +to be a trader!'</p> + +<p>The little boat struck the bank. We therefore +drew it along to the next lake, and continued the +rest of our journey in this manner, this being the +sole means of travelling in summer in that country +of lakes, marshes, and swampy woods.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>After travelling thus for an hour along a +narrow stream, overgrown with bulrushes, we +ultimately arrived at the last lake. The sparks +from a yurta chimney were glittering on its bank +in the distance, like tiny red stars.</p> + +<p>'I expect you are going to Chachak?' my +companion asked, when we stopped on the bank. +'I am spending the night there.'</p> + +<p>I took up some of the fisherman's things, and +walked towards the yurta. I had known Chachak +for some time past already. He was a queer +man, who laughed at his own extravagances, +and frequently even shocked the feeling of the +neighbourhood. 'Chachak has made himself a +cap of a whole wolf skin!' I had been told laughingly. +'Chachak has paid the merchants only +two roubles for a brick of tea; "they would make +too much profit by three roubles," he said!'</p> + +<p>'What about the merchants? Did they give it +to him?'</p> + +<p>'Eh, why, his old woman gave it to them on +the sly! Why! You don't know Chachak! He +won't give three roubles;—he won't drink, and +he won't give that!'</p> + +<p>Chachak had been famous in his youth as the +best hunter in the district, and wonders were +related of his prowess and skill. He preferred +bear hunting to any other, and set out to it summer +and winter with his spear and gun, killing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +in the open field or lair, just as it happened. He +was as ready for such encounters as he was for +cards. Only let him hear of a bear, and from +that moment he had no peace until he had tracked +and killed it. Many a time he had been invited +to accompany hunters who had found a den with +several bears. But burning with the fever for the +chase, he had been unable to wait until morning, +and had slipped away in the grey dawn with his +faithful dog to hasten to the spot, where he was +usually to be found, pale and splashed with the +blood of the 'forest lords.' There was nothing +left for his companions to do but for each to eat +a portion of the hard heart and liver of the +vanquished, and to drink a cup of blood, shouting +the triumphant 'uch!' three times. All eyes +would be upon Chachak, who would try to appear +indifferent, although excited and feeling the just +pride of a hero. Once, moreover, he had killed +a bear with a tail, which, as everyone knows, is +not a bear, but a devil. Had he not killed the +'icy demon,' who tracked people, carried off +cattle, and whom neither bullet nor spear could +touch? Chachak himself never spoke or boasted +of his victories; he was always modest and reserved, +as befits a man who possibly knows more +than others. Since the accident which befell him +during his last hunt, however, he had been completely +changed. He had given up hunting and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +playing cards, become poor, and grown morose +and strange:—he had lost his influence.</p> + +<p>His yurta stood near the bank, so I quickly +found myself at its gate. A bright fire was +burning within, and voices could be heard talking. +So they were not asleep yet! I went up to the +door, and peeped through the chink. Chachak was +sitting before the fire, with his face towards me, +holding a net which he was not winding, for his +hand was stretched slightly in front of him while +he related something to the listeners gathered +round him. At his feet a small naked child +played with the brass chain of a knife hanging +in a wooden sheath sewn to his leather trousers +above the right shin. Chachak was very animated; +every now and then he bent forward +towards his listeners, and stamped his massive +heel on the clay floor of the cottage.</p> + +<p>'They have a horror of horseflesh, and eat +pigs!' he was saying, 'yet a horse is a very +clean and sensible animal.'</p> + +<p>'Why, yes!' his listeners assented.</p> + +<p>'But pigs!—I have seen them! They're disgusting! +They've no hair! They're bare, dirty, +stupid, and bad tempered! They've enormous +mouths, thin curling tails like snakes, small eyes, +and teeth like a dog's. They're spiteful too!—When +I was at Yakutsk I had an adventure with +the pigs, and they all but ate me. There're lots<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +of them there. I had gone out by myself in the +early morning to finish my pipe in the passage; +everyone was still asleep, and it had only just +begun to dawn. The pigs were going round the +courtyard, squealing. I was young, and liked a +joke, so when they ran round me I shook my fist +at them. They rushed at me like mad!' He +broke off with a laugh. 'I ran along the passage, +they after me; I jumped on to a bench, and they +came grunting round me, while I kept shaking +my fist at them. Ha-ha!'</p> + +<p>He spat into his hand, and stretched it out +before him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the door creaked. The woman exclaimed, +the lads jumped up from the floor, the +children began to cry.</p> + +<p>'Who's coming? A Russian, perhaps, and +pigs with him!' Chachak stopped talking, and +drew back his outstretched fist.</p> + +<p>The entrance, as is usual in a Yakut yurta, +was behind the fireplace, the one source of light +in the evening; thus a full minute of fear and +anxious expectation passed before I entered from +the darkness. Yes, it was a 'Russian,' but a +well-known one, a friend, and, into the bargain, +without pigs!</p> + +<p>Their faces brightened, and they stretched out +their hands, welcoming me warmly and frankly, +as guests are always welcomed in the North.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +Chachak laughed, made room for me on the bench +before the fire, and ordered the kettle to be put +on.</p> + +<p>'Tell us the news, and what is happening,' +they begged me.</p> + +<p>I began to relate the local news. They all +listened attentively, although, as it turned out, +they had already long known it. The companion +of my night journey entered, and the conversation +became general. The men grouped themselves +round the table, on which Chachak's wife had +set supper for us; freshly made soup, sour milk, +and a large pile of fish, dried and smoked.</p> + +<p>Chachak stood at the fire, warming his back, +and did not join in the conversation. His daughter, +a young and rather pretty girl, placed a few +white china tea-cups and saucers on the table, +and the usual Yakut entertainment began: tea +with milk and cold refreshments, followed later +by a hot supper with fish. Although the offer of +meat was very tempting, and we were rather +hungry, we were not equal to tasting all the +dishes set before us. Chachak noticed this at +once, and attacked me about it with his wonted +brusqueness.</p> + +<p>'You aren't eating? You've had enough? +What's this new fashion of going to pay visits +without being hungry? You Slavs eat like birds +when you go to people's houses, but you go home<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +and call out: "Wife, the samovar; put the +saucepan on the fire,—I'm hungry." You're disgraceful!'</p> + +<p>They all began to laugh, the old man no less +than the rest.</p> + +<p>A general conversation was started, at first +about different countries and customs, but soon +reverting to burning local questions.</p> + +<p>'What's wrong with Andshay? He's in trouble. +There's no trace of his boy.'</p> + +<p>'None?'</p> + +<p>'A pity! He was a sturdy lad!'</p> + +<p>'Have they found nothing?'</p> + +<p>'No. All the neighbours have been out to +search; they've searched the lakes, they've +searched the wood, they've been searching for a +whole week. But there's nothing,—nothing.'</p> + +<p>'Ah!—sure to be a bear. They say one appeared +in the valley; Kecherges saw him,' +muttered the fisherman, who had arrived with me.</p> + +<p>At the word, 'bear,' Chachak, who was standing +by the fire, silently playing with his fingers, +suddenly looked up. Everyone stopped talking, +and involuntarily turned towards him. His old +wife nervously tried to change the subject.</p> + +<p>'A bear! Where was he seen?' Chachak asked +quickly in a low tone, sitting down on the bench.</p> + +<p>'Oh! Who can tell? Perhaps it wasn't one +either,' the fisherman answered hesitatingly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>'A bear,—depend upon it!' Chachak said +slowly. 'They have found neither flesh nor +clothes:—"He" usually buries the remains of his +prey in the ground,—"He" even scrapes the +blood off. That's just what "He" does. You +say Kecherges saw "Him?"' he again asked the +fisherman.</p> + +<p>'Lies!' the latter answered evasively.</p> + +<p>'Oh! "He"'s clever, "He"'s sly and revengeful! +Andshay must have done something +to "Him" in order to be able to boast of it, or +to have something to talk about. "He" remembers +insults a long time, that's why "He" +has carried the boy off. Although "He" lives +far away, "He" hears in the mountains and +forest quite well what we are saying here, and +understands like a man,—better than a man! +Who knows what "He" is? Skin "Him," and +you will see how like a woman "He" is. But +"He"'s revengeful,—and terribly fierce,' Chachak +added, looking down. '"He" doesn't forgive!'</p> + +<p>'You Russian,'—he turned to me suddenly,—'be +ready for "Him" on the road. Take care! +Take care! Though a bear is big, "He" can go +as quietly as a shadow when "He" wants to +fall upon a man unawares. I advise you to stay +the night with us; there's no joking with +"Him"! Once I was not afraid either, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +now;—there—look!' He undid his shirt sleeve. +It was a terrible sight. The left shoulder, which, +as I had previously noticed, the old man could +make little use of, was shrunk and thin to the +elbow, like a mere bone covered with skin, and +those veins and muscles which were unscathed, +wound round the bone close to the surface. There +was a mass of white scars, crossing in different +directions.</p> + +<p>'I have killed many,—many!' he continued, +'and now I know that they will eat me for it,—eat +me because I'm afraid. It happened like this. +It was rather later in the season than this; it +was freezing. I got ready my spring-gun for elk-shooting, +and God gave me one of these big +beasts. To have carted its flesh, skin, and inside +along a bad road would have needed seven or +eight horses. So I decided to build a larder on +the spot, and to lay the elk in it for a time, till +the road became frozen. I and my boy set out +early to work. The lad was lingering a little way +behind me, and I was walking quite quietly along +the road, and had just passed the willow which +grows on the hill not far from here, when "He" +came upon me. He ran towards me like a dog, +and before I could look round "He" was already +standing on his hind-legs. I reached out for my +knife, but tried in vain to drag it from the sheath. +There was a night frost, and on coming out of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +the house I had not wiped my knife, as I should, +after eating, so it had frozen to the sheath. It +was God's hand!—So the "Black One" knocked +me down. Finding myself overpowered, I seized +him by the throat with my right hand, and laid +the left on his jaws, and called to the boy to run +for help. The silly boy jumped on him, and—whack!—went +his pocket knife into the bear;—he +had a little knife that size,' and Chachak +measured with his finger. '"You want to eat +my father!" he shouted. The Black One was +frightened, and jumped into the bushes. But the +boy had hit me in the chest with his knife, and +I should have been killed, had it been able to +pierce the stag's hide. They could scarcely bring +me round again.'</p> + +<p>'And you see from that time, when "He," +sitting on me, looked into my eyes, my mind +has been troubled. I am afraid,' he added quietly, +'very much afraid.'</p> + +<p>Not long after I took leave of my kind hosts, +and went home. The moon was shining brightly, +the mist had disappeared, and the well-known +foot-path shone white before me. I had gone +along it a thousand times without fear or thought +of evil, but this time when I neared the place +where Chachak had been attacked I involuntarily +fingered my knife-handle, and for a moment I +seemed to see the monster lying in the shadow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +of the bushes, its shaggy muzzle on its outstretched +paws.</p> + +<p>A few years later I heard that Chachak had +disappeared without trace in the wood: the +'forest lords' had doubtless accomplished their +revenge.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> +<h2>IN SACRIFICE TO THE +GODS</h2> + +<h3>WACŁAW SIEROSZEWSKI</h3> + + +<p>Close to where the river Sheroka issues from +a rocky gorge into a broad valley, there is +a wooden column, ornamented with carving. At +this column, which stands in the middle of a +small meadow near the water, the nomad Tungus +assemble annually from the neighbouring +mountains. Hundreds of reindeer in the midst of +a crowd of human beings make a charming picture +as the caravans travel thither together. When +the merry crowd enters the valley the splash of +the river is lost in a ringing echo of voices.</p> + +<p>Their camp-fires, scattered in a semi-circle in +the wood at the foot of the mountains, twinkle +against the background of eternal shadows like +a shining girdle, in which the delicate spring +green and the grey diaphanous tissue of stems +and branches are interlaced.</p> + +<p>This is the most agreeable season in the mountain +valleys; gnats and other insects have not +yet begun to be worrying, the air is delightfully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +cool, everything is unfolding and blossoming, and +only the winter snow on the summits of the +mountains lies untouched by the warmth. The +pale, transparent sky above the snow neither +darkens at night nor glitters with stars, but +shines with the Northern light which joins the +sunset of the fading day to the sunrise of the +next.</p> + +<p>The people remain near the column in the clearing +for a whole week. The family elders, grave +old men, meet here and discuss their common +needs, collect the tribute of hides, and settle all +important matters.</p> + +<p>But the young men use the time for love and +merry-making, dancing and races. The valley +rings with laughter and shouting, with the strokes +of the hatchet and the echoes of songs; the +ground trembles under the cloven hoofs of the +furiously driven reindeer; the leather lassoes +swish through the air as they are thrown on to +the antlers of the animals destined for slaughter. +And where work is most active, where life is at +its fullest the jingle of the women's glass and +silver ornaments is sure to be heard.</p> + +<p>So it has been time out of mind. But one year +it happened differently.</p> + +<p>Numbers of people assembled in the valley, as +usual, but the noise of their talking did not drown +the roar of the river. The youths did not dance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +at the meeting place, no reindeer were to be seen +racing. There was no laughter, no singing.</p> + +<p>Nor did the counsels take place in common. +The men assembled in small groups in separate +tents, with a dull look on their sad faces. They +talked without animation; jokes and laughter, so +beloved by the Tungus, were checked by a general +sense of depression, and only rarely indulged in.</p> + +<p>However, they did not disperse, but waited +impatiently for the coming of old Seltichan, without +whom they would not have dared to have +settled any important matters. But the old man +did not arrive.</p> + +<p>'The old man doesn't come, he doesn't come,—and +he won't come,' muttered one of the group, +sitting among his companions, who were circling +round the fire. He was a stout man of possibly +fifty years of age, unlike a Tungus, and dressed +like a Yakut, with a silver Yakut belt. He had +the puffed-up air of a rich man knowing his own +importance. 'Who cares to visit the dying?' he +added, sulkily.</p> + +<p>'<i>You</i> didn't try to escape your fate,' gloomily +answered a poorly dressed old man, as tawny as +copper, and as wrinkled as moss, who was sitting +on the opposite side of the fire.</p> + +<p>'That is true!' a third repeated. 'You don't +try to escape, you don't hide. Didn't I run away, +didn't I hide? And what came of it?' and, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +emotion, he began for the hundredth time to relate +the story of his misfortune. Each time it was +received with equal attention.</p> + +<p>'When the news of the disaster came I was on +the summit of Bur-Janga, and was just getting +ready to go down; but I hesitated, and delayed +my start. For a long while the God had mercy +on me;—I know that!—till one night I awoke +terrified, with a beating heart. I listened:—I +heard what seemed like a shot, and loud calling. +I drew my head from under the cover, and again +I seemed to hear a noise in the wood, like distant +shooting. The dogs whined and howled, as if +they had noticed a bear. I went out of the tent, +and looked. The moon was shining, and an +immense shadow passed into the wood from the +bottom of the valley, avoiding the hills. The +dogs fell at my feet, and I covered my eyes with +my hand, unable to look. My heart beat in my +breast like a frightened bird, my feet were rigid +with terror.'</p> + +<p>'O-oh!' echoed the sighs of the listeners.</p> + +<p>'And what happened next?—A hundred reindeer +fell dead at once. Not waiting for dawn, +we pushed on that very night. We fled, not halting +anywhere, but our herds became smaller every +day. So I divided them, and sent them in three +directions; yet in a few days' time my son,—and +later my daughter,—returned empty-handed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +Then I made up my mind to flee to the end of the +world, where no one ever goes. But is there a +place anywhere, to which no one has ever yet +been? I took nothing belonging to the dying +animals, not even the halters; I left everything. +And when the leader fell I did not even take the +figured band from his head, which had come down +to me from my ancestors.'</p> + +<p>'A-ah!' responded the listeners.</p> + +<p>'The women burst into tears at that,' he continued, +encouraged by the sympathy of his audience, +'but the Russian traders had advised it. +"Take none of His offering, Brother; He seeks +out His own, and will find it everywhere!" So +I obeyed; I left it and fled. At last I had gone +so far that I grew frightened myself:—may be +no one had ever been there before me. There +were no trees anywhere, not even bushes,—only +the same rocks and snow everywhere,—and the +gale. It was impossible to pitch a tent for want +of poles, and I was afraid to send to the wood +for them, so we dug out a hole in the snow under +a rock, and settled ourselves in it. We were +comfortable there, and began to be cheerful once +more, for the plague ceased. One day passed,—a +second,—and none of the reindeer had sickened. +We waited in the silence of fear; we not only +avoided talking, but even thinking about "Him," +for possibly "He" too would forget us! We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +did not allow the reindeer out of our sight, and +we went where they led us, spending the night +among the herd, like the Chukchee. In this +way some time passed. My wife was already +beginning to be cheerful, and I myself thought +that all would be well, and we should grow richer +after a while. But again I suddenly awoke in the +night, torn by anxiety. The moon was shining +as on that other night, and everything was bright +and still all round. The tired reindeer were sleeping +in a heap in the snow. But a shadow hung +in the air, falling independently, and not from a +rock.'</p> + +<p>Again the listeners responded with sighs.</p> + +<p>'I slipped out of bed cautiously, took my gun, +and without dressing, began to steal, naked, towards +"Him." "He" did not notice me, for +"He" was standing on a rock, taking stock of +what I possessed. But when I made a slight +sound as I was hurriedly taking aim, "He" +turned and fixed "His" great burning eyes on +me. I shot between them. What happened +afterwards I do not know. Did "He" hit me, +or cover me with "His" breath? I have no idea.</p> + +<p>'Something like a storm passed over me; but +when I regained consciousness I had not a single +reindeer left;—Tumara was a poor man.'</p> + +<p>The speaker was silent, waved his hand, and +starting to his feet, stood with bowed head, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +an expression of pain on his face. The young +men in the audience also stood up; but the old +men did not stir from their seats, and fixing +their eyes on the speaker, waited for the continuation +of the story.</p> + +<p>'Well,—and then—?'</p> + +<p>Tumara raised his head and began to speak, +but at that moment his look fell beyond the edge +of the circle and became absorbed in the distance, +his face showed astonishment, his lips trembled, +and tears rolled from his eyes. Everyone at once +turned in the same direction.</p> + +<p>At some distance from the fire, and leaning +against the back of a reindeer as white as milk, +stood a grey-headed Tungus in the old-time national +costume. Behind him, holding a riding-reindeer +by the bridle, was a young boy resembling +him in face and dress.</p> + +<p>'Seltichan!' they all cried, 'you have come at +last,—you!—our father! We thought that you +had forsaken us, who are dying! What news? +What have you heard and seen beyond the mountains? +How fare the people of Memel? Are they +living still? Or are they, perhaps, also drawing +their last breath, as we are? And you, our leader, +what do you mean to do? Have you come alone, +or with all your people? Are you going back to +the mountains? Or are you going to the coast?' +The questions came pouring out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<p>Giving the bridle to his son, Seltichan joined +the circle round the fire, and greeted everyone +singly by a shake of the hand. He sat down +beside the Kniaź,<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> dressed like a Yakut, who +hastily made room for him. Then, pulling a +small Chinese pipe out of his tobacco-pouch, he +filled it slowly. The group became silent, and +sat down again.</p> + +<p>'It is now two months since the plague reached +its height,' the old man answered in a calm, grave +voice. 'The people of Memel have dispersed +terrified and fled to the coast, but by different +ways, in order to avoid the dangerous place. +You need not expect them here. But my camp +will arrive this evening.'</p> + +<p>'Ah! Seltichan, who would ever doubt that +you would come? You are wise, you are daring, +you, we know, fear nothing!' the Kniaź cried, +stretching out his hand towards his neighbour's +lighted pipe.</p> + +<p>A shadow stole over the old man's face.</p> + +<p>'No one can escape his fate,' he replied coldly.</p> + +<p>'But you were born to happiness, Seltichan! +Does not the God love you? When whole herds +were dying everywhere, did you not merely lose +a young calf?'</p> + +<p>Again a cloud came over the old man's face.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + +<p>'He loves me because I keep the ancient customs. +My welfare does not spring from human +tears, but the mountains, the rocks, the woods, +and water bring it me,' the old man remarked +drily.</p> + +<p>His hearers caught up his words.</p> + +<p>'Yes, indeed! Your hand was open; you +supported your people in the day of disaster, and +shared in it.'</p> + +<p>'Yet who can help more easily than you?' said +the Kniaź. 'What can I give, for example, I, +who have only goods for sale, and debts? Should +I distribute my debts in these hard times? It is +true, I have nothing against that! Yet I too am +a Tungus;—what would anyone gain from my +accursed debts? They don't breed reindeer,' he +ended, laughing.</p> + +<p>'Yes, indeed! We should die without you, +Seltichan! Who supports us? Whose herds are +larger than yours? Who has a better heart? +What family is more distinguished and richer? +Whose sons are more skilled shots, and finer +huntsmen? Whose daughters, when grown-up, +most attract our youths? Are you not the first +among us,—you who neither suffer nor fear, +never lie, and never deceive as we do, and bow to +your fate? You, Seltichan! And to whom shall we +go, if you will not have pity on us?' came from +all sides.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + +<p>'The God knows, I will share with you! That +is why I am here!' the old man answered, +touched.</p> + +<p>'Tumara! Tumara!' the Kniaź cried, seeking +the story-teller, 'finish your tale. You will see, +Seltichan, what happens later.'</p> + +<p>Silence prevailed again. Tumara, who was +sitting in the front row of the councillors, stroked +his right ear with his right hand, and began after +a moment's pause.</p> + +<p>'I have told you already how, having lost the +reindeer, we took our goods and our children on +our backs, and returned to the valley. Our children +became ill, and soon died from eating bad +meat, which made us weak too. But what can +a hunter find in the wilderness at a time like +that?'</p> + +<p>'What, indeed?'</p> + +<p>'Very soon we were entirely without food. We +had eaten all our stores, leather bags, and old +thongs, and the women's greasy scarves; there +was nothing left that could have a taste. Do not +we, who encamp on the mountains, know what +hunger is? And was Tumara wanting in courage?'</p> + +<p>'He was famous for it!' the listeners +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'asserverated'">asseverated</ins>.</p> + +<p>'But it happened thus, nevertheless;—we had +been many, and only four were left,—I, my wife, +my son, and daughter. We went on, always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +longing for the sight of human faces. We halted +at all the known spots and ancient resting places, +and everywhere found the cold ashes of fires:—the +people had fled, scattered by the danger. And +our wanderings took us ever further from them.</p> + +<p>'But when, on coming down from the mountains, +we saw bare tent poles, all our courage +forsook us. Notwithstanding, we went on further +and never stopped searching, for it is not an easy +thing for a man to lie down and die in the snow +without giving any account of himself.—We +scraped the rubbish, and turned over the wet +ashes of the cold fires to find a morsel of food, +stilling our hunger by knawing the bones left by +the dogs. At last it came to this that we could +not look at our own children, full of flesh and +warm blood, without trembling. "Tumara, let +the girl die to save her parents," my wife said at +last. I was sorry for the child. She looked at +us, not understanding. "Tala," her mother said +to her, "according to the old custom, when the +family is in danger, the daughter dies first."'</p> + +<p>'That is so!' the listeners affirmed.</p> + +<p>'"Go, Tala," she said, "wash in the snow, +and look at the world for the last time." The +girl understood and tried to escape, but I held +her; so she cried and begged: "Wait till the +evening, perhaps the God will send something, I +want to live; I am afraid!" So we waited and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +watched. The girl was continually going out of +the tent, and looking towards the wood, shading +her eyes with her hand. But each time her +mother was behind her, hiding a knife in her +sleeve. It had already begun to be dusk. The +girl went out oftener and each time stood longer +on the threshold, while I lay in the shade of the +tent, waiting to see what would happen. Suddenly +I heard a cry outside, which froze my heart. +My wife came in with the knife in her hand, +staggering like a drunken woman. "Have you +killed her?" "No, the God has had pity," she +said, "there is a large elk running into the wood +close by here!" I jumped up and ran out of the +door with my son. The girl was sitting by the +tent with outstretched arms, while not far off +in the wood stood a large elk.—'</p> + +<p>'Stood a large elk!' the listeners repeated.</p> + +<p>'Is it difficult for a hunter to kill an animal +grazing? But my limbs were dried up with hunger, +my muscles weak with pain, and as I stole +towards my prey my hands shook so much I +could scarcely keep the gun in my hands. But +when the animal had been hit, and tried to escape +into the bushes, we dashed after it like wolves. +And thus the God helped us;—we remained alive +in order to die to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>Tumara ceased speaking, and bowed his head, +again stroking his right ear with his right hand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +The listeners were silent. In that moment of +strained attention they seemed to hear the splash +of each individual wave in the river, the swish of +each branch in the wood, as it rocked in the gale. +Suddenly another sound rang out distinct from +these continuous sounds, making all faces +brighten, and all heads turn in the direction +whence it came.</p> + +<p>Young Miore, Seltichan's son, bent down to +his father, and whispered:</p> + +<p>'Father, our people are coming!'</p> + +<p>'Yes, they are coming!'</p> + +<p>The train was actually approaching.</p> + +<p>The old men remained seated, but the young +ones slipped out of the circle one after another, +and assembled in groups at the edge of the bushes, +whence the whole procession, appearing at the +rocky outlet to the valley, could be better seen.</p> + +<p>A young girl rode in front on a dark yellow +reindeer. Her clothes were richly ornamented +with silver, a fact which at once suggested that +she was a great favourite in her family. She +held a long spear in her hand, and wore a band, +embroidered with beads, on her loose hair. As +she rode along, she cleared her path by cutting +away the twigs and gnarled branches which +might catch from behind on the packsaddle or +her clothing. When she raised her spear the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +sunbeams played on the edge of its steel surface +in a fiery gleam, and hovered over her head for +a moment like a will-o'wisp; then, passing along +her shining silver scarf, they fell on her right +hand, and finally faded away in the grass of the +river-islands.</p> + +<p>'Choka! Chogai!' the charming girl exclaimed. +She was accompanied by two black dogs, which +kept running ahead, and then turning back to +examine and sniff at everything, leaving nothing +unnoticed. Following her in a long line came +the laden reindeer, some of which were being +ridden by women, and children who were tied on +to the top like tight bundles.</p> + +<p>At the very end of the caravan two armed +huntsmen, aided by dogs, drove a herd of unladen +reindeer with their calves. The noise, +clatter, and bustle, the frightened calling of the +cows seeking their calves which had gone astray +in the confusion, the jingle of bells, the rattle of +clappers hanging from the necks of the animals +in front, the cries of the men calling to the herd +or keeping it in order,—all this whirlpool of +seething, exuberant life filled the valley with a +resounding echo, and fell on the ear of the listener +as a great familiar song of the happiness and +well-being of a free nomad existence.</p> + +<p>The spectators' eyes glistened. Unable to restrain +an outburst of feeling, they began to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +describe the impressions made upon them by the +scenes and faces passing by like fleeting shadows.</p> + +<p>'See, there is old Nioren!'</p> + +<p>'What an energetic old woman!'</p> + +<p>'Formerly all the Tungus women were like +that.'</p> + +<p>'So they say—'</p> + +<p>'Look how cleverly she manages her reindeer.'</p> + +<p>'That's one good thing, but they say that she +bore a son to Seltichan not long ago, and that's +better still.'</p> + +<p>'There's nothing wonderful in that; Majantylan's +wife is older, and she also bore—'</p> + +<p>'Hush! Look, there is Sala, the old man's +daughter-in-law, about whom they sing songs.'</p> + +<p>'But is she not worthy of them?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, indeed!'</p> + +<p>'You may chatter away, but if Miore hears +you, he will give it you!'</p> + +<p>'What can he do to us? I am not afraid of +him.'</p> + +<p>'Look,—look!—Laubzal!—Zleci!'</p> + +<p>'Actually!—What a wild reindeer!—They +needn't have put a little boy on it!'</p> + +<p>'He's a plucky lad! Look!—The old man +will be delighted with him!'</p> + +<p>'And Chun-Me!'</p> + +<p>'Ah! Chun-Me! Chun-Me!' several sighed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +their glances seeking the girl with the steel-coloured +fringe on her head.</p> + +<p>'They say that the Kniaź wants to win her +for his son.'</p> + +<p>'Eh, the old man won't give him his favourite +daughter,—not he!'</p> + +<p>When Seltichan's eldest son rode by,—a famous +hunter, commonly known by the name of 'Sparkling +Ice,'—conversation was hushed out of respect +to him.</p> + +<p>And when the last reindeer of the caravan had +disappeared into the bushes, and the branches +closed swinging behind it, Seltichan rose from +his seat and went away, taking leave of the company +with a slight nod. This was to indicate +that he was expecting them all to come to him +shortly.</p> + +<p>That evening there was a crowd round the old +man's tent, for nearly all the temporary inhabitants +of the valley were present. The host gave +orders for several reindeer to be killed, and +welcomed his guests. With the light-heartedness +of true Tungus, they forgot their sufferings in +satisfying their hunger after their long fast, and +began to dance and join in cheerful songs.</p> + +<p>The old men sitting by the fire watched the +younger ones with enjoyment, and beat time +with their heads, repeating the refrains.</p> + +<p>'What do you think, Oltungaba, will the God<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +withdraw his punishing hand, and allow joy to +return to the mountains?' Seltichan asked, turning +to one of the guests, the old man who was +as dark as copper, and as wrinkled as moss.</p> + +<p>'Our life, Seltichan, is a shadow falling upon +the water,' Oltungaba answered meditatively.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p>The following morning the people in the valley +awoke in an unusually solemn mood. The day +proclaimed itself rich in events. The weather +was exquisite, the sky clear and blue, without +a trace of cloud.</p> + +<p>Having assembled at the conference, the older +and prominent members of families took their +places in the front row, the younger ones behind +them, and the women and children still further +off, beyond the edge of the circle. Oltungaba, +yielding to numerous entreaties, walked into the +centre, and bowing, said:</p> + +<p>'Why do you ask this of me, regardless of my +old age?'</p> + +<p>'To whom else can we turn?'</p> + +<p>'There are distinguished shamans who are +younger.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Oltungaba, who would dare to prophesy +in your presence?' was asked from all sides.</p> + +<p>The old man was silent, and looked distrustingly +at the excited assembly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> + +<p>'You hesitate,—when, maybe, the last day has +come for many?'</p> + +<p>'I am not thinking of myself, but calling to +mind the ancient customs. Who will interpret +my language to you? A difficult time demands a +difficult language, and a painful time a painful +language. And why arouse danger unnecessarily? +If no brave man is found, must I die?'</p> + +<p>'Let us all die! Surely, Oltungaba, you wish +us well? We are resolved.'</p> + +<p>'Then <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'let is'">let it</ins> be so,' he assented, after a short +moment's thought.</p> + +<p>Two of the most famous shamans offered him +a shaman's cloak with the long fringe, and a +number of metal amulets and musical instruments. +Then they smoothed out the old man's hair, and +placed a horned iron crown on his head. An +elderly Tungus, in attendance on the shaman, +was drying a drum at the fire meanwhile. When +perfectly dry and taut, he tested its elasticity by +a blow with a small mallet. The well-known +mournful sound stirred the echoes of the valley, +and interrupted the talking. A white reindeer +skin, with the head turned towards the south, +was then spread in the middle of the circle. The +old man sat down on it, and lighting his pipe, +swallowed the smoke, and washed it down with +water. Then he poured out the rest of the water +to the four quarters of the globe, and turning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +his face to the sun, fell into a state of complete +torpor. He sat thus for a long while with bowed +head, his hair falling into his eyes, and his look +fixed on the blinding white of the mountain tops. +At length a shiver ran through his body, followed +by a violent sob. The shivering and sobs increased +by degrees until they passed into incessant convulsions +and groans, in part feigned, in part real. +The spectators could be heard sobbing also.</p> + +<p>An old woman dropped down in a fit.</p> + +<p>At the same moment a fleeting, dark shadow +fell on the ground close to the shaman: an eagle +was hovering between him and the sun. A +piercing cry rent the air, and the people bent +like grass before the gale.</p> + +<p>Who cried? The shaman or the eagle?</p> + +<p>No one knew.</p> + +<p>'It is bad, it is bad,' the people murmured.</p> + +<p>'Hush!'</p> + +<p>The drum sounded several times with a deep +and mournful echo, as the crowd was frightened +into silence.—The eagle flew away into the +distance.</p> + +<p>Once more there was stillness, interrupted only +by the shaman's muttering. After a while isolated +sounds, coming, as it seemed, from the distant +wood and depths of the mountain clefts, began +to mingle, like the murmur of a swarm of bees, +or the twitter of birds calling to one another.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +Then Oltungaba shook his bells. By degrees +these sounds grew louder, and came nearer, until +they passed away in the roar of the waterfall +and the splash of the rain which was now falling +in torrents. Yet deep and painful sighs, repeated +more and more frequently, could be heard above +the rush of the water. Oltungaba suddenly raised +the drum above his head. Trembling violently, +and covered with the pelting hail, he began to +utter frightened sounds, like a sheep chased by +a wolf. Then, all at once, throwing his hand +into the soft reindeer skin, he became silent, but +continued to tremble.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Goloron!' the shaman groaned, hiding +his face with his hands.</p> + +<p>And there was stillness once more. Nothing +was heard but the shaman's sobs and indistinct +mutterings, accompanied by the beating of the +drum. Above these sounds rose the intermingled +cries of eagles, hawks, crows, and lapwings, +which appeared to be circling in flights round the +mountain tops. Their shrieking and cawing alternated +with the shaman's unintelligible incantations. +It almost seemed as if they foresaw some +dreadful event, and were hastening to bring news +of it in advance to the lords of the äerial world.</p> + +<p>By degrees the incantations became more distinct, +the words more intelligible, till finally the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +first strophe of a chant burst from the shaman's +lips.</p> + +<p>'Do ye hear the roar of the sea?'</p> + +<p>'Ah yes!' answered the attendant.</p> + +<p>'I who am the first in creation—'</p> + +<p>'Verily,' the attendant replied.</p> + +<p>'I, the first among the chosen—'</p> + +<p>'In truth,' the attendant repeated.</p> + +<p>'Let them come blazing, like the shield of the +sun!'</p> + +<p>'Let them come!'</p> + +<p>'He himself like the clouds,—the fiery raven +precedes him—'</p> + +<p>'Riddles for a child!'</p> + +<p>'Riddles for a child!'</p> + +<p>'I am thy son. I, wretched one, walking the +earth, implore thee!'</p> + +<p>'I implore!'</p> + +<p>'Aid my weak strength in this stony path.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, aid!'</p> + +<p>'Oh, drum, my herald, and wind, my wings!'</p> + +<p>'Aye, verily—'</p> + +<p>'I approach you, encircled by winged and +restless—'</p> + +<p>'Winged and restless—'</p> + +<p>'Their claws are open, their throats are extended—'</p> + +<p>'Extended—'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> + +<p>'The mountains groan, the earth trembles +within—'</p> + +<p>'Ah!—'</p> + +<p>'And I go ever fearfully, yet unhindered—'</p> + +<p>'Protect me, my lord, I cry to thee—'</p> + +<p>'For I am from the suffering nation!'</p> + +<p>'I am indeed.'</p> + +<p>'Mighty helper, angry, threatening saviour, +have pity!'</p> + +<p>'We pray!—'</p> + +<p>'If I err, let me not perish on the pathless +track!'</p> + +<p>'Let me not!'</p> + +<p>'Save the erring, lead me.'</p> + +<p>'We go—'</p> + +<p>Growing more and more animated, the old man +stood up, and began to dance.</p> + +<p>The dance resembled a march. The shaman +described what he met in his path in fantastic +language, and by gestures. The attendant followed +him, repeating his words, and, at moments, +supporting him by the elbow. Thus they came +to the edge of the circle. Calmly and solemnly +the shaman raised his drum towards the sky in +silence, and then sang:</p> + +<p>'Thou snake-like Etygar, dwelling in regions +below the earth, ruling over the air, sickness, +and death itself.—'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Etygar!'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + +<p>'And thou, Iniany, like to a man with huge +wings, thou, who shelterest from destruction—'</p> + +<p>'Iniany!'</p> + +<p>'And thou, Arkunda, endued with the power +of second-sight!'</p> + +<p>'And thou, Normandaï, whose piercing cry +turns the heart to ice!'</p> + +<p>'And thou, iron-feathered Wavadabaki! And +thou, whom we only know by thy shadow!—'</p> + +<p>'I ask what you may require, and what is the +cause of your anger? Restrain your ministers, +withhold your persecutions. Know ye not that +we perish, and if we perish, who will prepare +your offering?'</p> + +<p>'Who will?'</p> + +<p>'To you I come defenceless, entangled in a +long cloak. My head is bent with years, my open +eyes cannot see far.'</p> + +<p>'It is even so!' chimed in the attendant, who +had been silent hitherto, not daring to repeat all +these awful incantations.</p> + +<p>'Going to the sea, and returning to the sea, +I am a Nomad—'</p> + +<p>'Yea, verily—'</p> + +<p>'Ye like dark reindeer, ye like dappled reindeer; +have they ceased to be pleasing?'</p> + +<p>'Have they ceased?'</p> + +<p>'Ha! Ha! Ha! When you dance, do you +forget us, and being merry, do you shun us?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Is it, perhaps, rich furs, silver, glass ornaments, +coloured dresses, sweet cakes, or vodka +that you desire?'</p> + +<p>'That cannot be!' exclaimed the attendant.</p> + +<p>'Fools! Something, were it even everything, +must be taken for the powerful!'</p> + +<p>'Therefore choose a young girl from among us, +and we will dedicate her.'</p> + +<p>There was silence.</p> + +<p>'Oh, fiery Goloron, feared on the earth, proclaiming—'</p> + +<p>Again there was silence.</p> + +<p>Oltungaba beat the drum, and the strokes +rolled like thunder between the awful words, +which, uttered haltingly, seemed to come from +a distance.</p> + +<p>'They give the scraps to the dogs! Let the +people humble themselves, and an obedient man +be found; otherwise they will fade like the morning +mist.'</p> + +<p>'O-oh! How can we possibly give anything, +possessing nothing?'</p> + +<p>'I will therefore tell you how it was in former +days. Let it be he who is proud, he who is rich, +whose sons are famed for their shooting, and +daughters for their beauty; whom all love, whose +thoughts are kind, and counsels wise, whose heart +is brave, whose hand is open, whose soul seeks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +good. We wish to see the bewildered terror, the +pale face, the tears of separation.'</p> + +<p>Oltungaba became silent, and let the drum fall.</p> + +<p>'No!' he said, after a moment's reflection, 'I +will not disclose the name; possibly they may +say; "Oltungaba is jealous." Yet what is +human blood to me? A shaman needs nothing +but his drum.—I have said everything.'</p> + +<p>He concluded the rest of the ceremony rapidly, +and took his place among the spectators, gloomy +and exhausted. Tea was offered to him and the +more honoured guests. The young men began to +kill reindeer for the others, and to put the cauldron +on the fire without delay. Yet none of this was +accompanied by the gaiety and animation which +usually prevails among the Tungus on such +occasions. Those present talked with great +restraint, lowering their voices almost to a whisper. +They behaved with marked politeness to +the family of Seltichan, and took pains not even +to look at their host.</p> + +<p>Seltichan was as calm and friendly as usual, as +if he had not noticed anything, and even tried to +start a conversation with Oltungaba. But the +shaman preserved a gloomy silence. Then Seltichan +began to relate aloud how he had spent that +year beyond the mountains, throwing in various +hunting anecdotes which he told with so much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +humour that he was soon surrounded by cheered +and even smiling faces.</p> + +<p>Only his favourite son, Miore, who was standing +behind him, looked gloomily at everyone.</p> + +<p>The frame of mind usual before a meal slowly +gained the ascendancy. And when the pieces of +savoury meat were taken from the cauldron, +everyone had quite forgotten to be sad. Then +Seltichan, forsaken by his listeners, became depressed +at once, and Miore, watching his father +attentively, grew gloomier still.</p> + +<p>Unable to restrain himself longer, the lad burst +forth angrily to Oltungaba, as he approached: 'I +can see that you really want to make away with +the old man.'</p> + +<p>The latter regarded him with angry surprise.</p> + +<p>'You are young and ignorant—'</p> + +<p>'But nothing shall come of this,' Miore +answered, and withdrew, shaking his head.</p> + +<p>This short conversation did not escape other +people's attention.</p> + +<p>By the end of the banquet Seltichan had regained +his usual amiability, as became a host who +was entertaining the second day running without +regard to his herds. But on returning to his tent +he no longer concealed his anxiety, and sat meditatively +before the fire, paying no heed to anything; +he did not even see the supper his wife placed +before him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Eat, Seltichan; do not grieve, my lord; I am +your faithful servant!' she said at last, shaking +him by the shoulder and looking at him affectionately.</p> + +<p>The old man turned enquiringly towards his +wife, and smiled. He ate heartily and with relish, +for, according to Tungus ideas, no event in life +is great enough to deprive a fat reindeer of its +savouriness.</p> + +<p>The following morning Seltichan awoke earlier +than the rest, and possibly for the first time since +becoming head of the family, he did not stir the +half-extinguished fire, but, without waking anyone, +quietly escaped from the tent.</p> + +<p>The sun was shining, although it had not yet +risen above the mountains. The dawn had disappeared, +and it was broad daylight. Here and +there golden lines bordered the blue shadows of +the clefts in the snow-clad mountains. But meanwhile +in the valleys, man and Nature were still +asleep:—the wood slept, wreathed in mist; the +embers glowed faintly on the cool hearths; the +reindeer lay on the moss in the bushes, chewing +the cud. The only sounds were the gurgle of the +river, and the chuckle of the mountain pheasants, +which were leaving their hidden roosting places, +and flying to the tree tops.</p> + +<p>The old man gazed at the familiar valley long +and attentively. Suddenly he trembled. He could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +see a man standing before one of the tents in +the distance; he also seemed to be looking at +the surrounding country. Seltichan's keen glance +recognized Oltungaba, but the tent, before which +he was standing, belonged to the Kniaź. The +old man's face clouded, and he went home.</p> + +<p>'Get up, children!' he cried. 'Heh! Chun-Me! +light the fire! You've had enough sleep for +a day like this!'</p> + +<p>They all sprang up frightened, and began to +busy themselves. The old man looked on with +pleasure while the work was silently shared in +the order established by centuries. The women +put the tea-kettle and cauldron on the fire, and +carried the bedding out of doors; the men, after +examining their thongs and arms, prepared to go +into the wood to call the herd together. The +bustle stopped when the tea was ready. They all +sat down gravely round a plank serving as table, +but as the host was silent, no one dared to talk, +although all, not excepting old Nioren, were +excited. The young women and girls looked at +their father in unspeakable fear. Miore was sad +and angry, but 'Sparkling Ice' regarded the old +man with respect, not unmixed with a certain +degree of curiosity.</p> + +<p>After drinking his tea, Seltichan ate something, +and lighted his pipe. Then he said to his youngest +son:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Go out, boy, and call the people.'</p> + +<p>Miore did not stir from his seat.</p> + +<p>'Do you hear?'</p> + +<p>Not until the command had been repeated +threateningly did the lad rise and begin to buckle +on his things. But, instead of going, he suddenly +threw himself at his father's feet.</p> + +<p>'Are you determined? Are you determined? +Oh, father do not leave us! The family will never +agree to it. I was talking to the young men +yesterday, and they said: "Rather than that, let +all our reindeer die, and we will live by industry." +But if they do decide on that in the end,—let the +fat Kniaź be killed!'</p> + +<p>'You are foolish, my boy,' the old man said +with a smile. 'You do not know yet what I +shall do. I wish to see the people.—Go, I tell +you!'</p> + +<p>'Oh, my lord, why do you deceive us with +hope?'</p> + +<p>'Don't talk nonsense.—I have already told +you—'</p> + +<p>'They will never let us off; it would be better +to escape secretly.'</p> + +<p>'I have already told you—' the old man repeated +obstinately.</p> + +<p>'Oh Father, let us escape, let us escape!' they +all begged, stretching out their hands towards +him. But the old man thrust away Miore, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +most impetuous of them all, with a kick in the +chest, and cried:</p> + +<p>'Cursed birds of ill-omen, cease from breaking +my heart!'</p> + +<p>'I would like to know,' said 'Sparkling Ice,' +who had been gloomy and silent hitherto, 'why +Miore does not obey when our father commands +him?'</p> + +<p>The lad, who was lying as he had fallen, rose, +and left the tent in silence.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p>Once more the people, from small to great, were +assembled at the column in the valley. The +armed men were dressed in their best attire,—various +kinds of fur, which hung in long fringes. +The sun shone on their ornaments as they took +their seats in small bands according to families. +They amused themselves, wrestled, and in no way +betrayed the reason for coming there.</p> + +<p>The members of Seltichan's family were distinguished +among the rest by their choice arms and +rich clothing, as well as by their strength, skill, +and the proud independance of their bearing. +Seltichan himself, who occupied the seat of honour +among them, watched everything that took place +with great attention.</p> + +<p>'The tribe is enfeebled, and dying out,' he said +from time to time. 'Was it not so with the family<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +of Tumara? Where is Leljel, who was no less +flourishing than we? Where is Nilken?'</p> + +<p>'If you leave us, we also shall be enfeebled +and dispersed,' his family answered him.</p> + +<p>'"Sparkling Ice" will remain after me;—he is +not my son, but my comrade!'</p> + +<p>The grief of Seltichan's family on hearing this +made the old man hesitate as he looked at them.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the excitement prevailing in the +assembly increased, and strange rumours were +whispered abroad. Somehow it came about that +the members of Seltichan's family became more +and more isolated from the rest, and were greeted +with silence when they approached. Miore and +some of the other young men were not disconcerted +by this, however, and continued to mix +freely with the crowd.</p> + +<p>In the evening they all dispersed, but the excitement +did not die down, and was only transferred +to the tents and the camp fires. People sat talking +in low voices until late into the night, alarmed +when they saw anything unusual. Several even +sharpened their spears. 'A man like that does +not die without something happening,' they said.</p> + +<p>On the third day they all came fully armed. +Many of the young warriors brought their spears +with them, and stood leaning on them outside the +circle. The deliberations did not begin, but the +excited whispers which passed round the crowd<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +showed the passionate, though restrained, feeling. +All eyes were continually turned towards Seltichan, +who was sitting splendidly dressed among +his sorrowing family, he alone calm and cheerful.</p> + +<p>'Shall we allow the old man to cheat us?' +whispered several.</p> + +<p>'Shall we allow the old man to cheat us?' asked +the Kniaź, going from one to the other.</p> + +<p>'Well, and what then?' they asked him at one +meeting. 'Perhaps you think it will be easier to +get hold of the daughter when the old man is not +there? You need not expect it; "Sparkling Ice" +will never give her to you. He has not forgotten +that little affair.'</p> + +<p>'What affair? May all my reindeer die, and +may I stay in one place to the end of my life, +like a Russian in a wooden house, if that is true,' +swore the Kniaź. 'Oltungaba is not a man of +that sort!'</p> + +<p>'Oltungaba drinks vodka!'</p> + +<p>The Kniaź became confused, and did not know +what to answer at once. 'Idiots!' he finally +exclaimed, and stroking both ears, he ran off to +carry his complaints elsewhere.</p> + +<p>All this increased the excitement, and caused +a great deal of talk, which ultimately reached +Miore's ears through Seltichan's kinsmen. +'Father, they are deceiving you,' the youth exclaimed +passionately, going up to him. 'You are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +willing to die, but it is all the doing of the Kniaź; +he has bribed Oltungaba! He thinks there will be +no one to equal him when you are not here! +Father, I beg you, escape quietly. Our tents are +struck, the young men are ready, the reindeer +saddled; we shall be on the mountains before +they have noticed anything. And even should +they do so, are we not your children?'</p> + +<p>Seltichan's face clouded.</p> + +<p>'Let Oltungaba be summoned,—let him be +tried!' he cried, rising.</p> + +<p>'Oltungaba! Oltungaba!' exclaimed many of +Seltichan's family.</p> + +<p>'Oltungaba! Oltungaba!' was heard on all +sides.</p> + +<p>The grey-haired old man entered the circle +reluctantly, looking as dark as moss.</p> + +<p>'Is it true that you have taken a bribe from the +Kniaź? That out of regard to him you have +deceived us?' they all cried.</p> + +<p>'Wait a little; let one speak! Don't you see +that I have only two ears, so that a hundred voices +only bewilder me?'</p> + +<p>'Then let one speak!'</p> + +<p>The head of one of the most distinguished +families, who was very highly respected, stepped +forward, and sitting down, began to ask questions.</p> + +<p>'Did you take bribes?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> + +<p>'Why shouldn't I take them? Don't I live on +men's bounty? Haven't both you and Seltichan +given me some too? The Kniaź also gave one, +but he didn't ask for anything, and I promised +him nothing. Is it not a sin to suspect it? How +is it possible to say such a thing? The man will +die! Ask his people.'</p> + +<p>Witnesses were summoned, and the Kniaź was +summoned. They all stood in the centre of the +angry circle, looking rather frightened, but the +enquiry led to nothing. The only thing that was +clear was that Oltungaba had visited the Kniaź +in his tent, as he had visited others, and had +profitted by his liberality.</p> + +<p>Stroking his ears with both hands, and swearing +with quite unusual fervour, the Kniaź talked at +extraordinary length of his disinterestedness, his +merits, his zeal in safeguarding the interests of +the tribe with the government, and, above all, of +his sacrifices—in paying taxes.</p> + +<p>Oltungaba spoke scornfully, and in monosyllables.</p> + +<p>'You don't believe me, Seltichan,' he said +finally, turning to the old man. 'Have you forgotten +how I loved and taught you when you were +a boy; how I advised you in difficulties, told you +old legends, and about distant countries? Was I +not your father's comrade,—his friend when you +were still a little child, crawling on the ground?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +And later, when you grew up, did I not boast of +you, and you, did you not listen to my advice? +Who was the foremost warrior and hunter among +us? Who spoke wisely and courteously?—You +were always a true Tungus, Seltichan; we all +know that.—Was it the worst who were offered +in olden times? I swear to you, old man, and to +all the tribes that I spoke the truth. I said what +a voice from heaven commanded me to say! May +my face be turned round to my back, and my body +dried up like tobacco leaves, may my eyes fall out, +and my muscles grow weak like badly dried yarn, +and—may my hand burn, as the heart burns from +unkindness'—here with a rapid movement he put +his hand into the flame.</p> + +<p>They all sprang up, and Seltichan drew the +old man away from the fire.</p> + +<p>'Oltungaba, forgive me, and all of you, forgive +me,' he said with emotion. 'It is a sin to suspect +evil. I will go,—I had already determined to do +so. I am summoned, and I will go. If I stayed, +you would be forced to go,—so would it be worth +while? There is always one rotten egg in a nest.—Can +a man be a man without reindeer? What is +a Tungus without other Tungus?—I leave you, +but you will not forget me!—Good-bye!—May +your herds increase! May your children grow to +manhood! May joy not shun your tents! May +there be no lack of food in your cauldrons, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +powder in your horns, and of goodness in your +hearts!—I go away, but my thoughts are gentle, +as the rays of the setting sun.—I am going now; +I take leave of you, my people!—Farewell!'</p> + +<p>With a quick movement he tore the figured +'dalys' on his chest, and plunged a knife up to +the hilt into his heart.</p> + +<p>He stood for a moment, his fading glance +passing round them all,—then staggered, and fell.</p> + +<p>A single great sigh burst from the crowd.</p> + +<p>Oltungaba hastily knelt down beside the dying +man, uncovered his breast, and placing his right +hand near the wound, stretched his left towards +the sun, crying:</p> + +<p>'Oh, thou God ruling all things, help us,—shield +us! We are not the last, and not the lowest, +if we can send forth hearts like these!'</p> + +<p>'Hearts like these!' groaned the crowd.</p> + +<p>All, even the stout Kniaź, felt at that moment +as if their hearts beat with the same readiness +for sacrifice as that which was growing cold under +Oltungaba's hand.</p> + +<p>'He was a warrior,' whispered the shaman +after a moment, and picking up the 'dalys,' he +threw it over the face, quivering in its death +agony.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h4>PRINTED AT<br /> + +THE HOLYWELL PRESS<br /> + +OXFORD<br /></h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Nightingale.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> 'Człowiek' and 'Słowik.'</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> 'Człowiek' (man).</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> A popular song. Skrzynecki was a well-known leader +in the Polish Revolution of 1863.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> 'They are going.' 'Jadom' and 'jadą' are pronounced +similarly.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> 'Macki' = 'Tommies.'</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Polish 'picie' = a drink.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Polish ę = French <i>in</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Peasant's dress.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Bałdyga means 'lump' or 'clumsy lout.'</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> The river near his home.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> 'Docha.'</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> <i>i.e.</i> Polish.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> 'Talaki,' Yakut for 'water-willow.'</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> 'Yurta' = Yakut hut.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> 'Kyrsa' = white fox.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Native name for this forest.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> 'Taiga' = primeval forest in Siberia.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> A large lake to the N.E. of the Kołymsk district.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> 'Kniaź': Russian 'Soltys' = village mayor.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /> + +<div class="tnote"> +<h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> +<p>Uncommon spellings in original retained.<br /> +Missing/incorrect punctuation fixed.<br /> +Hyphenated and non-hyphenated of same words retained as in original.<br /> + P. iii: Orford changed to Oxford<br /> + P. 8: ditto marks changed to "English"<br /> + P. 55: months had passd — changed to passed.<br /> + P. 81: couse changed to course<br /> + P. 172: asserverated changed to asseverated<br /> + P. 180: Then let is be so — changed to Then let it be so +</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales by Polish Authors, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES BY POLISH AUTHORS *** + +***** This file should be named 35456-h.htm or 35456-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/4/5/35456/ + +Produced by David Clarke, JoAnn Greenwood and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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