WHAT HAPPENED WHEN THE BROTHERS DISAGREED
IT is market-day in Cracow; but then it is always market-day in Cracow,
so that would be nothing extraordinary. The rynek, or square, is crowded
with groups of peasants, some sitting on stools beside their vegetables
exposed for sale; others sheltered under huge umbrellas, knitting
stockings for their family, while awaiting customers. Here are displayed
laces, vegetables, also chickens and ducks, alive and squawking. There
is scarcely anything one would have need of that is not displayed in
this square. Indeed, it is a lively spot and a beautiful sight.
We have some hours to pass before evening comes, when we may ascend to
the Wawel for the celebration; therefore, we shall look about us in this
active part of the city and see some of the interesting sights and
ancient buildings, for most cities are interesting only as they can
present some historical reference. Here is an ancient-looking castle at
this side of the rynek; indeed, it not only looks ancient, but it _is_
ancient. Like everything else in Poland, it has a queer-sounding name to
us; it is known as Pod Baranami, which means Under the Ram's Head, from
its heraldic sign over the front. This is the home of the Potockis, one
of the very ancient families of the country. So prominent is this castle
in the history of Poland that the Emperor has chosen it as his residence
when he is in the city of Cracow. But it would be quite improper for the
Emperor to accept quarters in the home of another; he must be the
veritable head of the house; therefore it happens that, from an old
custom, it is usual for the family to move to other quarters and to
permit the sovereign full possession. The Emperor, however, is not
without graciousness. He accepts the generosity of his subject, and
atones for the inconvenience he has been put to by inviting the owner
and his family to dine with him. It must seem very strange to be invited
to dinner in one's own home with another at the head.
And here, a little further along, is the most interesting building known
as the Sukiennice, nothing more nor less than the Cloth Hall. In early
days, when there were no great department stores and selling agents for
goods, the makers of cloth formed a guild or club, which became known
throughout the land as the Cloth Guild. They built a great hall in which
to display their goods, for there were no shops in those times, as there
are now. This building became known as the Cloth Hall. Here the Guild
met to discuss the prices they should ask for the finished material,
and how much they ought to pay for the raw. The Cloth Guild was one of
the richest and most influential of all the Guilds, for people were
extravagant in their dress and wore most exquisite materials.
The Sukiennice is a great building of stone with the stairway to the
second story running up on the outside of the building; there are queer
little turrets, one at each corner, and heavy arcades upon the ground
floor, which protect the passers-by from the elements, as well as assist
in rendering the interior very dark.
Here, in the city of Cracow, the peasants will tell you of a curious
belief among them. The founder of Poland was Lekh, as you all have read.
He was supposed to have come from the far south, when quite a grown man;
but there are always two sides to every story, as the saying is. And no
two historians can agree as to which version is really the correct one
concerning Lekh. The peasants here believe that Lekh was born in this
very city, and they absolutely refuse to believe anything else. In any
event, the story goes that when he was a very young baby, as he was
lying in his cradle one day, without any one near, a fierce dragon with
three heads tried to devour him; but no harm came to the child, for he
grew up safely to manhood. Perhaps his faithful nurse returned in time
to avert the threatened danger. However, many, many years later, in this
same city of Cracow, in the year 1846, the country of Poland suffered
its greatest humiliation, for Cracow was the very last city in the
country to fall into the hands of the enemy. And now once more comes the
dragon with the three heads; it is the enemy, Austria, Germany and
Russia, who joined their forces together to tear beloved Poland into
pieces, and this time it won the victory.
The people of Poland will tell you that once upon a time, in the early
days of the country's history, there was a certain king reigning over
the land, who was very good and wise. He saw that his beloved people and
the land in which they lived was not what it should be; that something
was wrong. Being a solicitous father for his country, he left no stone
unturned to discover some remedy for the malady which ailed Poland.
Physicians, famed throughout the land, were sent for and consultations
held, but all in vain. There seemed no cure for the patient. However,
there was yet one resource left. In the land was a woman who was very
clever at divinations; to her, in his last extremity, the good, kind
king went and stated his trouble.
"Fear not," the prophetess answered, after listening to the king's tale,
"I will endeavor to aid you."
The king was delighted at her encouraging words, but he felt somewhat
doubtful of the result, as so many had failed before her. The old woman
selected three brothers from out the land; to each of them she gave a
third part of a flute.
"You are to journey together," she said to them, "until you have crossed
over seven mountains, and crossed seven flowing rivers. When you reach a
certain peak in the Carpathian Mountains to the southwest of Poland, you
are to halt, put the pieces of the flute together, and blow upon it. At
the sound, your brave old king, Boleslaw, and his valiant knights, will
arise from their sleep of death, take up their weapons, and conquer your
enemy, when Poland will once more be restored to her former state of
splendor and glory."
The king thanked the prophetess kindly, adding a most substantial gift
for her services. He saw the three brothers set off upon their task of
salvation for the country.
The three young men journeyed together, as they had been bid, until
they crossed seven running rivers and had climbed over seven mountains.
At length they reached the Carpathian Mountains as the old woman had
told them. Upon the top of the peak she had named they halted, and
pieced the flute together. Then arose the important question of which
they had not thought before: _who_ should blow upon the flute.
The oldest brother thought he should, for was he not the eldest? The
second brother thought he had just as much right to blow upon the flute
as his older brother. Why should he have all the glory when they, too,
had made the long journey as well as the eldest? But the youngest
brother was not content with this arrangement. He felt that he should
have a turn at the flute as well as the other two. And, in this manner,
they bickered and bickered. The days sped by without the question being
settled. And thus it remained. As they could not agree as to which one
should blow upon the flute, no one blew upon it. King Boleslaw did not
awaken from his sleep. His knights, in their suits of armor, remained by
his side, tranquil and at rest, and Poland, poor Poland, the ill one,
was left to its fate. The legend runs, that the names of the three
brothers were Aristocracy, Bourgeoisie and Peasantry. And to-day, were
they given another opportunity to show their worth, there would be no
question as to which one of the three would blow upon the flute, for all
Poland has agreed that its hope and life are due to the youngest
brother, Peasantry. And in this hope the upper class Polacks are bending
every effort towards improving the condition and education of the common
people, for thereby they believe the day will come when the peasantry
will arise, like the knights of King Boleslaw, and fight for their
liberty. The inference is that the peasants are now asleep; they do not
see their opportunities, nor know their strength; but that when they do
arise they will bring peace and prosperity once more to dear Poland.
Peter and Marya were so interested in the history of the city, and in
looking at its magnificent old buildings, they were not aware how
rapidly the time was passing, until their mother told them it was time
to return to the hotel for dinner. As soon as the first rays of dusk
crept on, they insisted upon making their way to the Wawel, so as not to
miss anything; for well they knew, these little children of the
aristocracy, they would not be again permitted this privilege. As they
drove from the hotel to the top of the hill they passed great crowds,
and yet more and more, all making their way on foot up the toilsome
incline to the castle, the one spot of activity that night.
A bright fire was already burning within the fortress courtyard. The
flames leaped higher and higher until they fairly seemed to reach to
the vaulted blue above. About the fire were gathered thousands and
thousands of people: old men and women, young men and their wives and
sweethearts, for the entire populace had turned out to celebrate the
Wianki, or wreaths. Each one bore in his hand a wreath of flowers or
leaves, all of different colors; and while the band played entrancing
music, wild polonaises and mazurkas, the people cast their wreaths into
the waters of the Vistula. Brilliant fireworks of every description
lighted up the scene, making the sky one mass of light and color. Every
one looked very happy and gave himself up to the joy of the moment.
The wreaths having been cast into the river, the young folks joined
hands in a great circle about the blazing fire. They danced round and
round, singing Polish airs; strangers all they were, but enjoying each
other's company. From among the circle, two young folks were chosen, a
man and a young girl, the circle of singers coupling the names of the
two together, prophesying that these two might become affianced and wed
happily. What mattered it that they were unknown to each other? What
mattered anything that night, when all hearts were light, and youth was
abroad?
In games and sports of this character, the evening wore away and the
hour of midnight approached. Marya was becoming more and more excited.
She grasped the hand of Mademoiselle tighter, for fear she should lose
her; then she might not penetrate into the forest.
One by one the young girls of the group slipped away and disappeared
into the gloom of the surrounding woods; Marya believed it was about
time that she, too, were making good her escape. Holding tightly to the
hand of her governess, she walked slowly in the direction the others had
taken. She had at last set out on her search for the magic fern which
grows in the forest. She would try to discover its hiding-place; for
she longed for a happy and successful life. It is no small task, this,
that Marya had set for herself. In the first place the fern is magic; it
is not to be seen by every one; it blooms just a second, exactly as the
midnight hour strikes, and then is gone. And another full year must roll
by before the maiden may search a second time.
[Illustration: "HER HEART WAS BEATING FASTER AND FASTER"]
"I shall find it," Marya kept repeating to herself, over and over again.
But she knew she could not hope to do so if she persisted in holding
fast to the hand of Mademoiselle. No one must have an escort who would
find the precious flower. But Marya was timid. Never before had she been
permitted out after dark, even alone with her governess. The woods were
very dark. The moon shone through the leaves, 'tis true, but the beams
only added to the fright of the young girl, for they cast weird shadows
upon the tree-trunks and more than once she was for turning back.
She dared not call out for fear of breaking the magic spell, and she did
so want to find the magic fern.
Her heart was beating faster and faster; she groped her way through the
thick trees, keeping her eyes riveted upon the ground in search of the
prize. Suddenly she saw a bright light ahead of her. She wondered what
it could be; whether it was some sprite's home in the forest, and what
was going to happen to her next. Then she heard the tinkle of a bell.
"The hejnal," she told herself. "Midnight." She counted the strokes one
by one. So intent was she upon her task that she forgot the magic fern.
She forgot Mademoiselle. She forgot everything but the musical tones of
the church bell tolling the midnight hour. She kept her course toward
the light in the distance. When she approached it, she found herself
once more on the Wawel hill, by the side of the great fire about which
she had danced so happily the early part of the evening. She had been
walking in a circle; and there, not ten feet from her, was Mademoiselle;
but neither of them had discovered the magic fern.
"Well, it was fun anyway," Marya said, when twitted by her brother for
her failure. "And I am sure if I could try again, I would walk in a
straight line next time."
The party returned to the hotel; the festival was ended, and on the
morrow the Ostrowski family returned to their dwór beyond Cracow.