Whirlpools

"Yes," corroborated Laskowicz, with a brightened countenance.

Gronski took off his spectacles to wipe off the dust and winked his eyes.

"But amongst you there are also differences. The French socialism is different, so is the German, and the English, and in their midst we find opposing camps. For that reason I shall not speak of socialism in general. I am only interested in the home product, of which you are an agent; for, from what you have said, I infer that you belong to the so-called Polish Socialistic party."

"Yes," answered Laskowicz with energy.

Gronski replaced the cleaned spectacles and unfurled all his sails:

"You claim, therefore, that in the name of Poland you have joined youth with a powerful idea, through which you have infused into her veins new blood. And I reply that this idea, whatever it may be, has degenerated in your minds to the extent that it ceased to be a social idea and has become a social disease. You have infected Poland with a disease and nothing more. The new Polish edifice must be constructed with bricks and stones and not with bombs and dynamite. And in you there is neither brick nor stone. You are only a shriek of hatred. You have abandoned the old gospels and are incapable of creating a new one; in consequence of which you cannot offer any pledge of life. Your name is Error and for that reason the resultant force of your activities will be contrary to you presuppositions. By pulling the strings of strikes you lead the people to naught else than to debility and wretchedness and from feeble beggars you are not able to build a powerful Poland. That is the actual fact. Besides, on one and the same head you cannot wear two caps unless one is underneath. So I ask which is underneath? Is your socialism only a means of building Poland? Or is your Poland only a bait and catchword to gather the people into your camp? The socialists, who call themselves socialists without any qualifications and do not insist that the same entity can be fish and fowl at the same time, are, I admit, more logical. But you mislead the people. The truth is that even if you wanted to you could not do anything Polish, for there is nothing Polish in you. The schools from which you graduated did not take away the language, for they could not do that, but they molded your minds and souls in such a manner that you are not Poles, but Russians despising Russia. How Poland and Russia will fare by this is another matter, but such is the case. To you it seems that you are making a revolution, but it is an ape of a revolution, and in addition a foreign one. You are the evil flower of a foreign spirit. It is enough to take your periodicals, your writers, poets, and critics! Their whole mental apparatus is foreign. Their real aim is not even socialism nor the proletariat, but annihilation. – Firebrand in hand, and at the bottom of their souls hopelessness and the great nihil! And of course we know where it originated. The Galician socialism likewise is not an Apollo Belvedere, but nevertheless it has different lineaments and less broad cheek-bones. There is not in it this rabidness and also this despair and sorrow which conflicts with the Latin culture. You are like certain fruit: on one side green, on the other rotten. You are sick. That sickness explains the limitless want of logic, based on this; that crying against wars, you create war; decrying courts-martial, you condemn without any trial; and denouncing capital punishment, you thrust revolvers in the hands of the people and say, 'Kill.' This disease also explains your insane outbreaks, your indifference to consequences, and to the fate of those ill-fated men whom you make your tools. Let them assassinate, let them rob the treasuries, but whether later they will hang in the halter is a matter of little consequence to you. Your nihil permits you to spit upon blood and ethics. You open wide the doors to notorious scoundrels and allow them to represent not their own villany, but your idea. You, generally speaking, carry ruin with you and join Poland to that ruin. In your party there are, without doubt, men of conviction and good faith, but blind, who in their blindness are serving a different master than they imagine."

Gronski knew that he was speaking in vain, but whether from habit, or because he wanted to relieve himself of all that had accumulated within him, he talked until the rattle of the wheels on the city pavements drowned his words. They parted rather coldly before the hotel, for Gronski's views touched the young medical student to the quick. He did not admit that Gronski was in the least right, but that such views should be entertained filled him with rage and indignation. He indeed said to himself, "It is not worth while answering, but our minds are not foreign, and our idea is new. Society is like a person who, having for many years lived in a house, is always reluctant to move into another though that other is much better." Nevertheless the words of Gronski stung him so deeply that at that moment he hated him as much as he did Krzycki and would have given a great deal if he could trample upon and crush the charges, so odious to him. Unfortunately for him he lacked time for it, and besides, weariness after a sleepless night began to overpower him more and more.

Gronski went to the post-office, received a package with the saddle, and afterwards drove to the doctor's, but learning that the latter would not be free for an hour, he left the carriage at his door and went to visit the old notary and at the same time deliver to him an invitation from Krzycki to visit Jastrzeb.

The notary was pleased to receive the invitation, as he had decided to visit the Krzyckis without one, in order, as he said, to behold the "eyes of his head" and hear her miracle-working violin. In the meantime he began to speak about the events which had occurred in the city and neighborhood. He was so impressed and affected by them that his customary choler left him, and in his words there was an undertone of bitter sorrow and heavy anxiety for the future of the community, which seemed to have lost its head. Factory strikes and to some extent agricultural strikes were spreading. In the city the lime-kilns had ceased to burn and the cement works were at a standstill. The workingmen, who, not having any savings, formerly lived from hand to mouth, in the first moments lacked bread. After the example of Warsaw, a local committee was organized for the purpose of collecting funds to prevent starvation. But as a result, this peculiar situation was created: the people most opposed to the cessation of work encouraged it by furnishing food to the idle. "A veritable round of errors!" said the worried old gentleman. "Do not give; then starvation follows and despair hurls the workingman into the arms of the socialists; give, and you also are playing into their hands, because they have something with which to support the strike and can convince the people of their omnipotence." He further related that outside of the committee the socialists were collecting money, or rather were extorting it from the timid by threats; that they called upon him but he told them that he would give for bread but not for bombs. They then threatened him with death, for which he had them thrown out of his office.

For a while he remained silent for the inborn choler assumed supremacy over sorrow; he also began to roll his eyes angrily and moved his jaws furiously, as if he wanted to eat all the socialists, together with their red standard.

Afterwards, when his rage had spent itself, he continued:

"Day before yesterday they sent me a sentence of death which they surely will execute, as they have declared war against the government and they butcher their own countrymen. Well, that is a small matter! Three days ago they killed a master tinner and two workingmen in the cement factory. In Wilczodola, a few versts from here, they waylaid and maimed Pan Baezynski and robbed the branch office of the governmental whiskey monopoly besides. Szremski, that doctor for whom you came and whose optimism sticks like a bone in my throat, says that it is but a passing storm! Yes, everything does pass away, individuals as well as whole nations. I fear that ours too is passing away; for we have become a nation of bandits and banditism never can be a permanent institution. Well! The people, after these acts of violence, have in reality become tired of robbing for the benefit of their party and now prefer to rob on their own account. Do I know whether we will arrive alive at Krzyckis to-day? Bah! Krzycki ought to be more on his guard than any one else. He passes for a rich man and for that reason they will keep him in their eye. I will go to Jastrzeb for if I am to be assassinated, before it takes place I want to hear once more our child-wonder. But in truth, Krzycki, instead of inviting more guests, should dismiss those who are staying there now. The doctor, if he had any sense, would find an excuse for dispersing them all to-morrow."

"I heard that he is an excellent man," said Gronski.

"An excellent devil!" answered the notary. "You remember whom you have among you, and it is only about her that I am concerned."

Gronski, though disquieted and distressed by Dzwonkowski's narrative, could not refrain from laughing when he heard the last admonition, for translated into plain words it meant, "May the deuce impale you all, if only no evil befalls the little violinist." But whenever Marynia was involved he himself was always willing to subscribe to similar sentiments; therefore he began to pacify the aged official by telling him that in Jastrzeb there were, counting the guests and manor people, too many hands and too many arms to have any fears of an attack; and that, besides, Pani Krzycki's probable departure would end the visit of the guests. Further conversation was broken by the arrival of Doctor Szremski who, having dashed in like a bomb, announced that he was free for the remainder of the day and could ride with Gronski.

Gronski gazed at him with great interest, for even in Warsaw he heard of him as an original and prominent personality, in the favorable meaning of those words.

He was quite a young man, with tawny hair, swarthy like a gypsy, with a countenance alive with fire, bubbling with health, somewhat loud and brisk in his manners. In the city he played an uncommon rôle not only because he had the largest medical practice, but because he belonged to the most active men in any field. He entered into every project as if to an attack, and thanks to a sober and an exceptional temper of mind, whatever he did was done, on the whole, sensibly and well. He was, as it were, a personification of that phenomenon, frequent in Poland, where, when amidst a public not only trammelled but negligent and indolent by nature, a man of energy and with an idea is found, he is able to accomplish more than any German, Frenchman, or Englishman could have done. He himself participated in every undertaking and compelled others to work with such spirit that he was nicknamed "Doctor Spur." He established secret schools, reading rooms, nurseries for the children, economical associations, and for everything he gave money, of which he earned a great deal, though he treated gratis throngs of the penniless. The local socialists hated him, for by his popularity and influence with the workingmen he frustrated their efforts. The authorities looked at him with suspicion and with an evil eye. A man who loved his country, organized life, spread enlightenment, and donated money for public uses, must in their eyes be a suspicious character and deserved at least deportation to a "distant province." Fortunately for him, the governor's wife imagined that she was suffering from some nervous ailment and the local captain of the gendarmery was actually troubled with incipient aneurism of the aorta. So then the governor's wife, who through her connections had made her husband governor and ruled the province as she pleased, was of the opinion that if it were not for this "l'homme qui rit" (as she called the doctor), eternal mourning would have befallen the governor, and the captain of the gendarmes feared alike the gubernatorial connections and the aneurism. He had indeed prepared a report which he regarded as the masterpiece of his life; and perhaps he became ill because he dared not send it to the higher authorities. Sometimes in his dreams, he arrested the doctor, subjected him to an examination, forced him to divulge his accomplices, and dreamt also that the report might be used in case the governor and himself were transferred to another province; but it was only a dream. In reality the report reposed on the bottom of a drawer and the doctor, who read it (for the captain showed it to him in proof of what he could have done but did not do), laughed so ingenuously and was so confident of himself that it occurred to the captain's mind that in reality there was no joking with the governor's wife or the aneurism.

The doctor laughed because he was by nature unusually jovial. In certain cases he could think and speak gravely, but at chance meetings and at casual talks, in which there was no time for weighty discourse, he preferred to slide over the surface of the subject, scatter jests, and tell anecdotes, which later were repeated over the city, and which he himself much enjoyed. His optimism and beaming countenance created incurable optimism and hope and good thoughts wherever he appeared. He joked with the sick about their sickness and with jokes dispelled their fears. His mirth won the people and a well-grounded medical knowledge and efficacious watchfulness over their health and lives assured him a certain kind of sway over them. For this reason he did not mind the "big fish," or in fact anybody. Such was the case with the notary whose perpetual choler and irascibility were known all over the city, so that social relations with him were maintained only by those who were exceptionally interested in music. The doctor, who also cracked jokes about music, sought his company, purposely to nettle him and afterwards to tell about his outbreaks, to his own amusement and that of his hearers.

And now he rushed in with the crash of a squall, became acquainted with Gronski, asked about the health of Pani Krzycki and about the pretty ladies staying in Jastrzeb of whom he had already heard; after which, observing the distressed face of the notary, he exclaimed merrily:

"What a mien! Is it so bad with us in this world, or what? Seventy-five years! A great thing! Truly it is not the age of strength, but it is the strength of the age! Please show your pulse!"

Here, without further asking the notary, he grabbed his hand, and pulling out his watch, began to count:

"One, two-one, two! – one, two! Bad! It is the pulse of one in love. There are symptoms of a slight heartburn! Such is usually the case. Such a machine cannot last more than twenty-five years, – at the most thirty. Thank you!"

Saying this he dropped the old man's hand, whose mien brightened in expectation, for he thought that twenty-five years added to what he had already lived would make quite a respectable age.

Pretending, however, to scowl, he answered:

"Always those jokes! The doctor thinks that I care for those wretched twenty-five years. It is not worth while living now. Of course you know what is taking place. I have such a mien because I was just talking with Pan Gronski about it. I also have a heartburn. Well, I ask what will become of us if all the people should follow the socialists?"

But the doctor began to swing his arms and deny this categorically. Not all the people, nor a half, nor a hundredth part. And even those who say that they belong to the socialists say so under terror or through misapprehension.

"I will give you gentlemen two examples," he said. "I live on a lower floor and beneath me in the basement there is a locksmith's shop. This morning I overheard fragments of a conversation between my servant and the locksmith. The locksmith said, 'I am a socialist; there is nothing more to be said about it.' 'Why is nothing more to be said?' said my servant. 'Then you do not believe in God and do not love Poland.' 'And why should I not believe in God and love Poland?' 'Because the socialists do not believe in God and do not love Poland.' And the locksmith replied, 'So? Then may sickness plague them.' That is the way people belong to the socialists. I do not say all, but a great many. Ha!"

And he began to laugh.

"The doctor always finds an anecdote," grumbled the notary; "but let us tell the truth, thousands belong to them."

"Then why do they not elect one deputy in the kingdom?" retorted the doctor. "Bombs explode loudly, so they can be heard better than any other work. But how many thousands participated in the national parade? Do these also belong to them? When in a factory ten men manage to hang a red flag on the chimney it seems that the whole factory is red, but that is not true."

"Why do not the others tear it down?"

"Simple reason! Because the police tear it down."

"And also because the socialists have revolvers and the others have not," added Gronski.

"Undoubtedly," continued the doctor. "I have ten times closer relations with the workingmen than any manager of a factory. I go into their dwellings and know their home life. I know them. Socialism is engaged in a struggle with the bureaucracy; so it seems to many that they belong to it. But, to the outrages only the worst and most ignorant element assents. The latter soon change into bandits, and that is not surprising. Their consciences have been taken away from them and revolvers are given to them. But the majority-the better and more honest majority-have under the ribs Polish hearts; and for that reason this demon, who wants to snatch and carry them away, called himself, as a bait, Polish. Ah! they only need schools, enlightenment, a knowledge of Polish history, in order not to allow themselves to be hoodwinked! Ay, that is what they need! Ay, ay!"

And in his gesticulations, he seized the old man's arm and began to turn him around.

"Schools, Pan Notary, schools; for the Lord's mercy!"

Blood rushed to the notary's head from indignation.

"Are you crazy!" he yelled. "Why do you jolt me like a pear?"

"True," said the doctor, leaving him alone. "True, but the extent to which these poor fellows misapprehend things is enough to cause one to weep and laugh at the same time."

"No, not to laugh," said Gronski.

"Do you know, sir, that at times, yes," exclaimed the doctor; "for listen to my second instance. Last Sunday, being tired as a dog, I drove out to the Gorczynski woods, just outside of the city, for a little airing. In the woods from the opposite direction came more than a dozen of workingmen who evidently were enjoying a May outing. I saw one of them carrying a red flag on a newly whittled stick. He probably brought it in his pocket and fastened it when they got to the woods. 'Good!' I thought to myself, 'Socialists!' And now, when they were near, the one who carried the flag sang lustily to the tune of 'Bartoszu! Bartoszu!' that which I will repeat to you, and I pledge my word, I will not add or subtract anything.

'Kosciuszko, though a cobbler,
Oj, soundly thrashed the Germans,
Oj, soundly thrashed the Germans;
Only, it is a great pity
For us, that he drowned.
Only it is a great pity
For us, that he drowned.'"

"Ah, honest simplicity!" exclaimed Gronski. "I would embrace him and present him with a history of Poland of recent times."

"Wait, sir," shouted the doctor. "I stopped my socialists of strange rites. It appeared that almost all were known to me and I said: 'For the fear of God, citizens, Kosciuszko was not a cobbler, he never thrashed the Germans, and he did not drown, only Prince Joseph Poniatowski did. Come to me and I will give you a book about Kosciuszko, Kilinski,[4 - Kilinski was one of the bravest and most popular heroes who fought under Kosciuszko. He was a shoe-maker by trade. – Translator.] and Prince Joseph Poniatowski, for you have made of them a bigos.[5 - Bigos: a Polish dish of hashed meat and cabbage. – Translator.] They began to thank me and then I asked: 'What has become of the eagle on your flag? did he go hunting for mushrooms?' They became confused. The flag-bearer started to explain why they had no eagle. 'Why, may it please the doctor,' he said, 'they told us: Do not take a flag with an eagle, for if they take the flag away from you, they will insult the eagle and you will suffer shame and disgrace.' Yes. In this manner they cheat the Polish heart of our own people."

But the notary did not want to part with his black spectacles.

"Well, what of it?" he asked. "Do you claim that if it was not for this and that there would not be any socialism amongst us?"

"There is socialism over the entire world," rejoined the doctor, "therefore there must be with us. Only if it was not for this and that, there would not accompany it highway robbery, savagery, and blindness; there would not be this modern socialism which has styled itself Polish, though its pitch can be smelt a mile away."