Our Little Polish Cousin
THE
Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover,
per volume, 60 cents
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE
(unless otherwise indicated)
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Alaskan Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Arabian Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Argentine Cousin=
By Eva Canon Brooks
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
=Our Little Australian Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Belgian Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Bohemian Cousin=
By Clara V. Winlow
=Our Little Brazilian Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Brown Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin=
By Elizabeth R. MacDonald
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
By Isaac Taylor Headland
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Danish Cousin=
By Luna May Innes
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Egyptian Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little English Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Grecian Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Hindu Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Hungarian Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
By Edward C. Butler
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Persian Cousin=
By E. C. Shedd
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Polish Cousin=
By Florence E. Mendel
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Portuguese Cousin=
By Edith A. Sawyer
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
By Claire M. Coburn
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: MARYA OSTROWSKA]
OUR LITTLE POLISH COUSIN
By Florence E. Mendel
Illustrated by Harriet O'Brien
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
_MDCCCCXII_
_Copyright, 1912_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, April, 1912
_Electrotyped and Printed by
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A._
TO
My Husband Edward
Preface
THERE is no doubt whatever but that every little girl and every little
boy has heard of the country of Poland, and of its inhabitants the
Polacks, or Poles, as you hear them more often spoken of. But there are
countless numbers of these same children, I fear, who have not the
slightest idea where Poland lies, except in a most vague way; nor how
the people live, what they eat, what their pleasures and enjoyments are,
and how they dress. Of course, you say at once, "Why, they eat the same
things we do; every one eats meat and vegetables, and drinks milk or
coffee," but right there you are mistaken. The nations of other lands do
_not_ live as we do, for we are the most extravagant nation in the
whole world; indeed, other peoples cannot afford to live like us, for
most of them are extremely poor; so poor and ignorant, as applied to
Polacks, that it would make your heart ache to see them in their homes;
they know very little of happiness, and comfort is a thing unknown to
them, except for the wealthy, landed class. But these Polish peasants
never think of complaining of their lot. They accept it as their fate,
to which they were born; and, with light hearts, they make the best of
their surroundings and their holidays; and I believe they derive more
real pleasure from their infrequent play-days than we are able to do
every day in our blessed, happy lives.
The story of Poland, like the story of every other nation, is not dry
and dull. It is intensely interesting. It reads like a fairy-tale, and I
am certain you will agree with me after you have finished this little
volume. I can but hope it will give you a better and clearer
understanding of the life of the Polacks, not only as to the rich, but
to the poor.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
PREFACE vii
I. THE ORIGIN OF POLAND 1
II. THE ARRIVAL AT THE DWÓR 10
III. THE SENDING OF THE OPLATKI 23
IV. CHRISTMAS AT THE DWÓR 35
V. THE VISIT TO THE GAILY PAINTED COTTAGE 56
VI. CARNIVAL SEASON 77
VII. THE VILLAGE WEDDING 99
VIII. THE ORPHANAGE IN THE WOODS 111
IX. WHAT HAPPENED WHEN THE BROTHERS DISAGREED 124
X. THE HARVEST FESTIVAL 139
List of Illustrations
PAGE
MARYA OSTROWSKA _Frontispiece_
"HENRYK LEANED DOWN AND KISSED THE HAND OF THE LITTLE FELLOW" 14
"THE LITTLE ONES THREW QUANTITIES OF SMALL COINS" 49
"THE PROCESSION FORMED, THE MARCH BEGINS TO THE CHURCH" 79
"SHE WAS BUNDLED INTO THE VILLAGE CART" 103
"HER HEART WAS BEATING FASTER AND FASTER" 137
Our Little Polish Cousin
CHAPTER I
THE ORIGIN OF POLAND
WE cross the Atlantic Ocean in one of the great floating palaces which
sail from New York; after seven days of good times on board, with not
too much sea-sickness, we sight land, the glorious, sunny land of
France. We all know and love France, for it has been endeared to us in
many ways. Lafayette helped us in our time of need long years ago, and
the French school-children have given us that token of their esteem, the
Goddess of Liberty, which stands at the entrance of the harbor in New
York, a welcome to all the poor, homeless refugees and immigrants who
come to this beloved land of ours in search of rest.
After passing through the custom-house at Havre, and our baggage being
examined by the officials in charge, to see that we have brought nothing
dutiable into their country, we board the waiting train, and are whirled
along by the side of the sparkling river Seine, which winds its way
lazily among beautiful green fields under the highest state of
cultivation, mostly in vegetables, until we reach the charming city of
Paris. As we may not linger here, much as we should love to, we are off
again in the morning. We leave behind us the sunny, fair skies of France
and emerge into the peaceful country of Germany with its rows upon rows
of hops so symmetrically strung upon high poles, and its fertile
vegetable gardens, where we see whole families, from the old
grandparents, much too old to labor, down to the tiny but sturdy
four-year-old, bending over the growing plants, weeding and hoeing and
ridding of plant-pests. To see the endless truck gardens, as we pass by
in the Schnell-zug (express train), one would be justified in believing
that the people of Europe ate nothing but vegetables. And it is quite
true. The masses have little else to feed upon, as meat is a rarity in
poor families. Even the salaried people are not able to afford that
luxury more than once a week, and then it frequently happens that only
the head of the house may indulge.
As night descends, our train pulls in at the depot at Dresden; but this
is not Poland; a little further, and we find ourselves in the city of
Cracow, the ancient city of Chief Krakus, which we find nestled snugly
and boldly at the junction of the three powerful countries, Russia,
Austria-Hungary and Germany. It is here we purpose spending a cycle of
months visiting, as Cracow is most typically Polish, with its
surrounding vicinities.
What a glorious country we are in! It is true, it is broad, and flat and
low, with rugged mountains and rapid rivers separating it, one part from
another; nevertheless, it is a wonderful land. At one time it was a
large country: now it is divided into three parts, each belonging to a
different nation, the Russians, the Austrians and the Germans. The
conquering nations have tried very hard to introduce their own customs
into this captive land, but the Polacks will not accept them. We shall
not enter into this phase of the question, but will visit the native as
he is and not as the conquerors would have him.
It is very much more interesting to know just where the country lies
about which we are reading, so we shall first learn where Poland lies
upon the map of Europe. We open our books, and search the map through,
but there is no country marked Poland. We are grieved to say there is no
longer any country by that name; it was not enough to wrest the country
asunder, but even its very name must be torn from it; therefore, it is
in the southwestern part of Russia, the very northeast tip of
Austria-Hungary, and the ragged northeast portion of Germany that we
must trace the boundaries of Poland. From Riga on the north to the Black
Sea on the south Poland had ample outlets for its great quantities of
wheat and sugar which it raised, and which brought enormous wealth into
the country.
Everything must have a beginning, even countries, and Poland was no
exception. It wasn't like Topsy, who wasn't ever born but just "growed;"
so here is the story of the birth of Poland.
Once upon a time, oh, very long ago, there lived a king or chief over
the lands which lay near the mouth of the Danube River. Now you all know
that the Danube rises at the Black Sea on the west, quite close to the
southern border of Russia. This chief had three sons, who were great,
strong men. At length the king died, leaving his lands and all his
wealth to the care of these sons. Now, in those far-away days, the
tribes who lived thereabouts were very savage; they had no learning or
education. All they cared for was to fight, and make conquests of other
nations so as to enlarge their own possessions. When the three brothers
found themselves left with their father's small domain, they were not
satisfied. They could not all rule upon the same throne and be at peace,
one with the other. The estate was too small to divide into three
separate kingdoms. Consequently, they determined to go in search of
other lands which would be large enough to satisfy their demands. They
set out and journeyed along happily for some time, meeting with many
dangers by the way, for the land was full of wild beasts of all sorts,
dangerous reptiles and savage men, who were worse, indeed, than all the
wild things of the earth.
While walking along the highroad, one of the brothers chanced to gaze
upward. He saw three eagles high in the air. He thought nothing of this,
however, for the air was full of all sorts of birds, large and small.
But finally he noticed that the birds were following along with them. At
last the brothers began to joke about the incident.
"I choose the white bird," said Lekh, the eldest.
"And I the black one," said Russ.
"Then I must take the only one left," remarked Tchekh. And, in this
merry manner, they passed the time as they continued their march.
At length the travellers came to three roads, diverging like the rays of
a fan. One road led to the north, the direction they were then
pursuing; another turned to the northeast, and the third to the
northwest.
"Which shall we take?" asked one of them, as they halted their footsteps
in order to decide the important question.
"I am for going straight on," Lekh said.
"And I, too," spoke up the other. "There is no use in separating so
soon. Let us wait a while!"
As they were arguing the point back and forth, Lekh saw the white eagle,
_his_ eagle, winging its way due north. The other two birds were each
following the direction of the other two diverging roads.
"There goes your bird," Lekh said to his brother Russ, as he pointed to
the black eagle flying toward the right. "Mine goes straight onward, and
so shall I. As for the rest of you, you may do what you like."
"Then I shall follow my bird," Russ replied. "Perhaps it will bring us
good luck."
So the three brothers bade one another an affectionate farewell and
parted. Russ followed the black eagle until he came to the present
country of Russ-ia, which he founded and named. Tchekh founded the
country of Bohemia, the people of which are even to-day known as Czechs;
as for Lekh, he wandered due north until he came to the broad plain
where he settled. As his guide had been a white eagle, he thought it but
appropriate to make that his emblem; and, in this way, it happened that
Poland has a white eagle upon its flag.
Lekh, as I have just said, settled in an immense plain, the Polish word
for which is "Pola." Then Lekh added his own name to that, making
Po-Lekh, sometimes written Lakh, and now we have the word Po-lakh,
meaning the people of Lekh who lived in the plain.