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.
'My word, Bartek, how are you?' she exclaimed gleefully. 'Do you know
the Count has arrived! He was married in Prussia; the young lady is a
beauty! But he has done well for himself all round in getting her;
fancy,--just fancy!'
The owner of Pognebin had really been married and come home with his
wife, and had actually done very well by himself all round in finding
her.
'Well, and what of that?' enquired Bartek.
'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!--'
Magda took her handkerchief, and began to wipe the perspiration from
her face. The next instant she started talking again in a gasping
voice:--
'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 Pognebin, and she said, "Not only in Pognebin,"
and then I burst into tears, and she too. And then the Count 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."'
Bartek began to scratch his neck.
'But the Germans have got hold of him too.'
'What of that? His wife is rich. They could buy all the Germans in
Pognebin 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 Pognebin to-day. He's not a German.
He'll write 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?'
'She is a good lady. There are not many such!' Bartek said at once.
'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!'
'I can't do otherwise,' Bartek replied resolutely.
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, 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.
'You Polish dog, just you dare to vote for Count Jarzynski, just you
dare!'
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 Pognebin, 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 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.
It was not much further to Pognebin.