Many years ago a certain nobleman had lived in the part of Poland to
which we have introduced the reader, who was called a "crank" by his
neighbours. He did not lead a dissipated life, and had married only
when well advanced in years; but there was a stain upon his
character--namely this: he indulged in teaching the peasants. He
opened an elementary school where all the children were taught
reading, writing and arithmetic, had religious instruction, and learnt
a little tailoring and cobbling. Every boy had to learn to make simple
suits, shirts and caps. All this formed the basis of the education.
Afterwards he engaged a gardener, a blacksmith, a locksmith, a
carpenter and a wheelwright, and the pupils now passed on to
instruction in these trades, as well as to advanced arithmetic,
geometry and drawing. The nobleman himself taught geography and
history, read instructive books to the pupils, and told them countless
anecdotes, all of which had the same moral--namely, that being
honest, patient, industrious and thrifty, among other good qualities,
gave a man the true value of a human being.
The neighbouring landowners complained that he was spoiling the
peasants, and experts laughed because he taught the boys all the
trades. But he shrugged his shoulders, and said that if there were
more Robinson Crusoes on earth, forced to know something of all trades
while they were young, there would be fewer ignoramuses, loafers,
scoundrels, or slaves tied to one place.
"Besides," said the quaint old man, "this is a whim of mine, if you
like that better. You breed particular kinds of dogs, cattle and
horses; why shouldn't I breed a particular class of human beings?"
He died suddenly, and his relations inherited his property, ran
through it in a few years, and the school was forgotten. But it had
produced a certain number of men of great economic, intellectual and
moral value, though none of these ever occupied prominent positions.
The nobleman's spirit would have rejoiced at his pupils' progress, for
he had not brought them up to be geniuses, but to be useful, average
citizens such as are always needed in the community. One of these
pupils was Kazimierz Goslawski. He, too, had learnt various trades,
but he took a special liking to two of them--those of blacksmith and
locksmith. He could also draw a plan of an engine or a building, make
mathematical calculations, prepare a wooden model of a foundry, and at
a pinch make his own clothes and boots. The longer Goslawski lived,
the more he appreciated his master's methods, and realized the
practical importance of the anecdotes. He held his benefactor's memory
sacred, and he and his wife and little daughter prayed for his soul
every day. Goslawski had been working in the mechanical part of
Adler's factory for seven years, and was the soul of the workshop. His
earnings amounted to two and sometimes even to three roubles a day.
There was a certain head-mechanic knocking about who drew a salary of
fifteen hundred roubles a year, but he occupied himself more with
factory scandals than with his own work.
In order to uphold his authority, this mechanic gave orders and
explanations, but he did it in such a way that no one either
understood them or attempted to carry them out; and this was a
blessing for the factory, for had his mechanical ideas been realized
in iron, steel and wood, the greater part of the engines would have
had to go into the melting-pot.
It was only after Goslawski had found out the damage done to an
engine, and put his hand to repairing it, that things went right
again. More than once this simple locksmith had replaced parts of
engines; unconsciously he had sometimes made inventions without
anyone knowing about it. If it had been known, the invention would
have been put down to the genius of the head-mechanic, who always
boasted of his achievements, and regretted that in this unintelligent
Poland one had no chances of becoming director of several factories,
no matter of what kind.
Adler had too keen an eye not to see Goslawski's value and the
incompetence of his head-mechanic. But Goslawski was made of too
dangerous a material to be given a place as independent manager, and
the head-mechanic was a good scandal-monger; so he was kept in the
foreground, and the other did the work. In this way everybody was
satisfied, and the world at large never suspected that the well-known
factory was really run by the brains of a "stupid Polish workman."
Goslawski was a man of medium height, with the coarse hands and
bow-legs of a workman. When he was bending over his vice he was
indistinguishable from the others; but when he looked up from under
his mop of dark hair, his thin, pale face showed that he was an
intellectually developed human being with a nervous disposition. Yet
his calmness and the look in his thoughtful grey eyes proved that
reason prevailed over his temperament.
He talked neither too much nor too little, and never too loudly.
Sometimes he got animated, but never let himself be carried away by
excitement; and he knew how to listen, looking attentively and
intelligently all the while into the speaker's eyes. Only to factory
scandals he listened with half an ear and without interrupting his
work. "What is the good of these things?" he used to say. But he would
interrupt his most important work to listen to explanations coming
within the range of his profession. He kept himself a little aloof
from his fellow-workmen, though he was always friendly and ready to
give advice, or even help, in small jobs. Yet he would never ask
anybody's help for himself, for he had the same respect for a man's
knowledge or time that he had for his money. The aim of his life was
to establish a smith's workshop of his own. For this reason he hoarded
up his earnings; he did not trust his money to the bank, and did not
like to lend it to his fellow-workmen: rather would he give away a
rouble or two now and then. For he was not mean: both he and his wife
had plenty of clothes, plain but good, and on Sundays he would not
begrudge himself a glass of beer or even a glass of wine. By means of
this reasonable economy he had saved about eighteen hundred roubles,
and was now looking about for the loan of a small building on some
landowner's estate, in which he could set up his workshop. In exchange
he would give preference to the landowner's orders. These arrangements
are often made between a landowner and his smith, and Goslawski had a
place of this kind in view for Michaelmas.
His earnings in the mill were rather uncertain. When a new line was
tried in the manufacture of cotton goods (and in this Goslawski was
unequalled), he was very well paid by the piece; but when the
experiment had turned out a success, and he had taught others how to
do the work, his pay was reduced by half, or even three-quarters;
sometimes he was only paid the tenth part. To keep the level of his
wages higher, he would often work overtime, come early and stay late.
When the workmen complained that the boss was cheating them, Goslawski
replied that they could not wonder, for they were cheating him in
return. But sometimes he would lose patience, and mutter between his
teeth:
"Vile German thief!"
Goslawski's wife wished to help her husband by working in the mill
too, but he gave her a good scolding.
"You had better look after the child and the dinner! For every rouble
you earn at the mill, two are lost at home."
He knew quite well, however, that she would earn more and the home
would lose less; but he was ambitious, and did not want the wife of a
future master to mix with common factory women. He was a good husband;
sometimes he grumbled that the dinner was unpunctual or badly cooked,
that the child was dirty, or that his shirt had been made too blue.
But he never made a scene or raised his voice. On Sundays he took his
wife to church, a few versts off, and when it was fine he carried his
little girl there too. Whenever he went into the town, he bought a toy
for the child and some little piece of finery for his wife. He loved
his little girl, though he was sorry not to have a son.
"What is the good of a girl?" he said. "You bring her up for another,
and have to provide her with a dowry into the bargain to get her
settled. With a son it is different: he is a support to you in your
old age, and might take over the workshop."
"Just you get the workshop started, and then the son will come too,"
his wife replied.
"Oh, well, you have been saying that for three years; there is not
much hope of you, as far as I can see," said the locksmith.
His wife was, however, not boasting without reason this time; for in
the sixth year of their marriage, about the time when young Adler
returned from abroad, she had given birth to a son. Goslawski was
beside himself with joy. He spent about thirty roubles on the
christening, and bought his wife a new dress, not counting the
expenses of the confinement. His savings were thereby diminished by
several hundred roubles, but he resolved to make them up before
Michaelmas.
Then, to his misfortune, "economy" was introduced into the mill. This
time Goslawski cursed with the others, but he went on working with
redoubled zeal. He went to the mill at five o'clock in the morning,
and did not come back till eleven o'clock at night, too tired to greet
his wife or kiss the children. He fell on to the bed in his clothes,
and slept like a log.
Such extreme effort annoyed his fellow-workmen; and his friend
Zalinski, the engineer, a fat and quick-tempered man, said to him:
"Kazik, why the devil are you toadying up to the boss and spoiling
other people's chances? When they went to him yesterday to complain
about the wages, he said to them: 'Do as Goslawski does; then you will
have enough.'"
Goslawski excused himself.
"You see, my dear fellow, my wife has been ill, and I have had very
heavy expenses. I would like to make up as much as I can, because, you
know, I want to start on my own. What else am I to do since that dog
has reduced the wages? I must go on slaving like this, though I have a
pain in my side and my head swims."
"Bah!" said Zalinski; "I suppose you will take it out of the
journeymen in your own workshop."
Goslawski shook his head.
"I don't want to profit by doing wrong. I don't give what is mine for
nothing, but I won't take what belongs to others, either."
And he went off to his work, which, though he was used to it, had worn
him out lately to such an extent that he was not able to collect his
thoughts.
"If only I can start on my own," he thought, "I shall forget all
this."
But the task was too great. To feed a family, to save all he could, to
make up the expenses caused by his wife's confinement, and to pay for
young Adler's travels into the bargain, went beyond the strength of
any human being.
He looked sad and got still thinner and paler; sometimes the
perspiration would break out all over him, and he would drop his hands
on his vice and wonder why his brain, usually so quick, felt quite
empty and dark. Possibly he would have slackened off if he had not
seen in the darkness a fiery signboard:
GOSLAWSKI'S MECHANICAL WORKSHOP....
Get on! Only three months more!
Meanwhile fortune again smiled on Adler. The demand for his goods,
which were excellent, was greater than ever, and in July double the
amount of orders came in. He accepted them all after consulting his
confidential clerks, and bought up cotton with all his available
capital. The hands were told that they would have to work until nine
o'clock in the evening, and they were to be paid double for overtime.
More workshops were added, and the question of how to make use of the
Sundays arose. With regard to this Adler had his plan ready. Sunday
work was to be paid at a double rate in the beginning, but in a
measure, as the hands got used to it, the pay would be reduced.
If everything went all right, Adler calculated that the profits of the
current year would make it possible for him to sell the factory, for
which he would easily find a purchaser, and to take his millions and
his son abroad.
Thus both the workman and the principal were simultaneously
approaching the realization of their hopes.
The increased activity in the mill affected the engineering workshop
in the first place. New hands were taken on, the compulsory hours were
extended until nine, and overtime work until midnight. The first two
hours of overtime were paid double, the next three times as much. A
stricter control was introduced, and if anyone left off work before
time, so much was deducted from his wages that his profits were
practically reduced to nothing. The hands were weary in consequence,
especially Goslawski, who, as the most expert, was obliged to work
until midnight.
Even he himself felt that he could not go on at this rate, and asked
for relief. The millionaire agreed, and proposed a new arrangement.
Goslawski was in future to receive a fixed salary, and work with his
hands only at those parts of the machinery which required the greatest
exactitude. His chief business would be to supervise the general run
of the work and direct others. He would in reality be the head of the
workshop, and while doing the work of a simple workman receive the pay
of a head-mechanic.
No German would have agreed to such a proposal, but when it was first
made it flattered Goslawski. He soon realized, however, that he was
being exploited again, for he had to work physically as hard as
before, and had in addition a greater strain on his mind. All day long
he had to rush from the vice to the anvil, and from the anvil to the
lathe, and was importuned besides by his fellow-workmen, who thought
that Goslawski was there not only to give them information, but to do
their work for them as well.
By the end of June he looked like an automaton. He never smiled, and
hardly ever talked about anything that was not connected with his
work. He, who had been so particular about tidiness, began to neglect
his appearance. He ceased to go to church on Sundays, and slept till
midday instead. In his relations with others he became irritable. His
one pleasure was to sleep; he slept like a man in convalescence. He
became a little more animated perhaps, when he kissed his little son
"Good-morning" or "Good-night."
Goslawski himself quite understood the state he was in. He knew that
the hard work was wearing him out, but he saw no way of freeing
himself from it. The contract with the landowner could not be signed
before August, and he could not take possession of the workshop till
October. If he left the mill he would have to live on his ready money,
and spend in a few months some hundreds of roubles which were
indispensable for the new start. The only thing to be done was to
stick to his post and strain his strength to the utmost. Perhaps a
week's rest after he had moved into his own household would restore
the disturbed balance of his organism.
But he was sick of the mill. He carried a little calendar about with
him on which he crossed out the days as they passed: only two months
and a half now; sixty-five days; two months only!...