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.
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, 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 Pognebin that the Germans would now
trample it underfoot in the same way in which they, the Pognebinites,
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.
All the same, the police from Pognebin 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:--
'Oh dear, what did you fight those French for? You will catch it now,
poor fellow, that you will!'
'Be quiet, stupid!' Bartek answered, and smiled quite cheerfully to
the passers-by as he drove along.
'I'll show them who it is they have offended!' he cried from the
carriage.
And, covered with his medals, he drove along to the trial like a
conqueror.
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.
In addition to this he had to pay a fine of 150 marks to the Boege
family and 'other injured colonists.'
'Nevertheless the prisoner,' wrote the _Posener Zeitung_ 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.
Meanwhile Bartek in prison quietly recalled his deeds at Gravelotte,
Sedan, and Paris.
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 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 Pognebin 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.'
Following immediately on this 'Polish question' the Chamber proceeded
to the order of the day.
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.
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.
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.
Difficult times followed for Magda. The fine had to be paid, and
there was nothing with which to pay it. The priest at Pognebin offered
to help, but it turned out that there were not quite forty marks in
his money box. The parish of Pognebin was poor; besides, the good old
man never knew how his money went. Count Jarzynski was not at home. It
was said that he had gone love-making to some rich lady in Prussia.
Magda did not know where to turn.
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.
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.
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:--
'Morgen!'
'How are you, Herr Just?'
'What about my money?'
'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!'
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.'
'Well, and how will you repay the fine?'
'How can I tell?--I might sell the cow.'
'Then I will lend you some more.'
'May God Almighty repay you, my dear Sir! Although you are a Lutheran,
you are a good man. I speak the truth! If only other Germans were
like you, Sir, one might bless them.'
'But I don't lend money without interest.'
'I know, I know.'
'Then write me one receipt for it all.'
'You are a kind gentleman, may God repay you too in the same way.'
'We will draw up the bill when I go into the town.'
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 Jarzynski 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 _Posener Zeitung_. 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.
'We are done for all round,' he said to his wife.
'All round,' she repeated.
Bartek began to ruminate deeply on the circumstances.
'It's a cruel injustice to me,' he said.
'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 Pognebin. They aren't afraid of anyone.'
'Of course, for they are the strongest,' Bartek said sadly.
'As I am a plain woman, I tell you God is the strongest.'
'In Him is our refuge,' added Bartek.
They were both silent a moment, then he asked again:--
'Well, and what of Just?'
'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 has debts with the German. They said even before the war that
he would have to sell Pognebin. Let us hope that he will bring home a
rich wife.'
'But will he be back soon?'
'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?'
'Perhaps you can decide on something, for you are a clever woman.'
'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?'
The victor of Gravelotte bent his head. 'Oh Jesu! Jesu!'
Magda had a kind heart; Bartek's grief touched her, so she said
quickly:--
'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!'
Magda began to smile through her tears.
'The ground doesn't belong to the Germans,' she repeated once more.
'Magda!' Bartek said, looking at her with wide-open eyes, 'Magda!'
'What?'
'But,--because you are ... if....'
Bartek felt deep gratitude towards her, but he could not express it.