Tales by Polish Authors Part 7

'Who are you, to quarrel with Maciej? Who are you--?'

'What's Maciej to me? It isn't to such as he that I have talked, you see! Why, you fellows, I talked, didn't I, to Steinmetz--_was_? But let Maciej fancy what he likes. We shall be better off now.'

Maciej looked at the conqueror for a moment.

'You Blockhead!' he said.

Bartek struck his fist on the table, making all the gla.s.ses and pint-pots start up.

'Still, der Kerl da! Heu! Stroh!'

'Silence, no row! Ask the Priest or the Count, Blockhead.'

'Was the Priest in the war? Or was the Count there? But I was there.

It's not true, boys. They'll know now how to respect us. Who won the battle? We won it, I won it. Now they'll give us anything we ask for.

If I had wanted to become a land-owner in France, I should have stayed there. The Government knows very well who gave the French the best beating. And our regiment was the best. They said so in the military despatches. So now the Poles will get the upper hand;--do you see?'

Kierz waved his hand, stood up, and went out. Bartek had carried off the victory in the field of politics also. The young men remaining with him, regarded him as a perfect marvel. He continued:

'As if they wouldn't give me anything I want! If I don't get it, I should like to know who would! Old Kierz is a scoundrel, do you see?

The Government commands you to fight, so you must fight. Who will illtreat me? The Germans? Is it likely?'

Here he again displayed his crosses and medals.

'And for whom did I beat the French? Not for the Germans, surely? I am a better man now than a German, for there's not one German as strong.

Bring us some beer! I have talked to Steinmetz, and I have talked to Podbielski. Bring us some beer!'

They slowly prepared for their carouse.

Bartek began to sing:

Drink, drink, drink, As long as in my pocket Still the pennies c.h.i.n.k!

Suddenly he took a handful of pence from his pocket.

'Beer! I am a gentleman now.--Won't you? I tell you in France we were not so flush of money;--there was little we didn't burn, and few people we didn't put a shot into!--G.o.d doesn't know which--of the French--.'

A tippler's moods are subject to rapid changes. Bartek unexpectedly raked together the money from the table, and began to exclaim sadly:

'Lord, have mercy on the sins of my soul!'

Then, propping both elbows on the table, and hiding his head in his hands, he was silent.

'What's the matter?' inquired one of the drinkers.

'Why was I to blame for them?' Bartek murmured sadly. 'It was their own look-out. I was sorry for them, for they were both in my hands.

Lord! have mercy! One was as the ruddy dawn! next day he was as white as cheese. And even after that I still--Vodka!'

A moment of gloomy silence followed. The men looked at one another in astonishment.

'What is he saying?' one asked.

'He is settling something with his conscience.'

'A man must drink in spite of that war.'

He filled up his gla.s.s of vodka once or twice, then he spat, and his good humour unexpectedly returned.

'Have you ever stood talking to Steinmetz? But I have! Hurrah!--Drink!

Who pays? I do!'

'You may pay, you drunkard,' sounded Magda's voice, 'but I will repay you! Never fear!'

Bartek looked at his wife with gla.s.sy eyes.

'Have you talked to Steinmetz? Who are you?'

Instead of replying to him, Magda turned to the interested listeners, and began to exclaim:

'Oh, you men, you wretched men, do you see the disgrace and misery I am in? He came back, and I was glad to welcome him as a good man, but he came back drunk. He has forgotten G.o.d, and he has forgotten Polish. He went to sleep, he woke up sober, and now he's drinking again, and paying for it with my money, which I had earned by my own work. And where have you taken that money from? Isn't it what I have earned by all my trouble and slavery? I tell you men, he's no longer a Catholic, he's not a man any more, he's bewitched by the Germans, he jabbers German, and is just waiting to do harm to people. He's possessed....'

Here the woman burst into tears; then, raising her voice an octave higher:--'He was stupid, but he was good. But now, what have they done to him? I looked out for him in the evening, I looked out for him in the morning, and I have lived to see him. There is no peace and no mercy anywhere. Great G.o.d! Merciful G.o.d!--If you had only left it alone,--if you had only remained German altogether!'

Her last words ended in such a wail, it was almost like a cadence. But Bartek merely said:

'Be quiet, or I shall do for you!'

'Strike me, hit my head, hit me now, kill me, murder me!' the woman screamed, and stretching her neck forward, she turned to the man.

'And you fellows, watch!--'

But the men were beginning to disperse. The inn was soon deserted, and only Bartek and his wife, with her neck stretched forward, remained.

'Why do you stretch out your neck like a goose?' murmured Bartek. 'Go home.'

'Hit me!' repeated Magda.

'Well, I shan't hit,' replied Bartek, putting his hands into his pockets. Here the innkeeper, wishing to put an end to the quarrel, turned out one of the lights. The room became dark and silent. After a while Magda's shrill voice sounded through the darkness:

'Hit me!'

'I shan't hit,' replied Bartek's triumphant voice.

Two figures were to be seen going by moonlight from the inn to the cottage. One of them, walking in front, was sobbing loudly; that was Magda; after her, hanging his head and following humbly enough, went the victor of Gravelotte and Sedan.

CHAPTER VII

Bartek went home so tipsy that for some days he was unfit for work.