In the end, the Jew himself treated the Koziols with contempt, and refused them credit.
Within a week after the battle, everyone had enough of the affair, and the complaints and lamentations connected therewith, and would not listen any longer.
But at that juncture, new helpers came, and the village was again in an uproar.
Ploshka, joining forces with the miller, now stood up openly and strongly for the Koziols.
Not that they cared for their cause in the least: each had his own aims and sought his own advantage.
Ploshka, an underhanded and much-aspiring man, put unbounded trust in his own wealth and cleverness: and as to the miller, he would have risked his life for money.
And thus the struggle between the two parties began, fierce, yet courteous: they treated each other to shows of friendship, and conversed as before, and even went sometimes arm in arm to the tavern together.
The shrewder Lipka folk were soon aware that this coalition aimed at something more than the mere redress of Koziol’s grievance—possibly at the Voyt’s office itself.
And the elders nodded their heads, saying:
“One man has made a good thing by the office: others may do so too!”
And as the days passed by, the village dissensions increased.
Once, about that time, there came round to every hut the news that there were Germans stopping at the tavern.
As someone guessed, they were no doubt bound for Podlesie.
The people were taken with a fit of uneasy curiosity. The news flew from orchard to orchard, it was discussed over the fences, and many a one hurried to the tavern to see.
It was true. Five large tilted wagons, each painted yellow and blue, and fitted with iron axletrees, stood outside the inn. They were laden with articles of furniture, and women were sitting inside. In the tavern bar, ten Germans were drinking.
They were tall, stout, bearded fellows, clad in dark-blue capotes, with silver chains that dangled from their bulging waists, and faces that literally shone with good feeding.
The peasants stood grouped together at a distance from them, calling for vodka, looking on and listening to their talk, but unable to make anything out. Matthew, who could speak Yiddish, tried speech with them by that means, and so fluently that the tavern-keeper looked at him in amazement. The Germans eyed him, but answered nothing. Gregory, the Voyt’s brother, then said a few German words to them: at which, grunting among themselves as swine do over a trough, they turned their backs on the peasants.
Matthew took fire at this. “Let’s punch their snouts for them!” he cried.
“Aye; or tickle their sides with a cudgel to make them speak.”
And Adam Klemba, a fiery young fellow, exclaimed:
“I’ll hit this nearest one in the stomach; and if he strikes back, ye all come in for fair play.”
But they restrained him; and the Germans, probably guessing some harm was intended them, took with them a barrel of beer, and left the place.
“Hey, ye Long Trousers, do not hurry so: they might fall down by the way!”
And as they drove off, the peasants shouted after them:
“Breed of swine!”
No sooner had they left than the Jew informed the peasants that the Germans had almost completed the purchase of Podlesie: fifteen families were to settle on that farm.
“And then we shall be hemmed in and squeezed to death on our poor strips of land, while they stretch and multiply over those broad acres!”
“Then let us bid higher and keep them out!” said Staho Ploshka to Gregory, who had spoken last. “Use your wits, since ye think yourself clever!”
“Blood of a dog!” Matthew shouted, thumping the bar with his fist; “ ’tis a ruinous business, this! If they settle down in Podlesie, ’twill be a hard thing for us to keep our homesteads in Lipka.” Of this he was sure: he had been about the world, and knew what Germans were.
His hearers were at first incredulous. All the same, it troubled them, and they fell a-thinking: how could evil come to them in Lipka from neighbours in Podlesie?
Every day, herdsmen and wayfarers came to tell how the lands of Podlesie were being measured, and landmarks laid down, and wells dug. Of this, too, so many as wandered out of curiosity in the direction of Vola had ocular demonstration.
But what was the true situation of affairs? That as yet they had not ascertained.
They urged the smith to find out, for he had made friends with the Germans and shod their horses; but he fought shy, and either learned or told them nothing.
It was Gregory who at last sought information and got at the truth.
The fact was that the Squire owed a certain German fifteen thousand roubles, which he could not pay. The latter proposed taking Podlesie for the debt, and paying the difference in ready money. The Squire seemed inclined to agree to this, but secretly looked out for some other purchaser, the German offering only sixty roubles an acre.
“He will have to agree,” Gregory declared. “The Manor is swarming with Jews, all crying out for their money. And the forester told me the Manor cows had been attached for the taxes. How, then, can he pay them? Everything is sold! And he may not cut down the forest, so long as his lawsuit with us is not ended.—No, he must sell Podlesie at any price.”
“Why, such land is worth a hundred roubles an acre!”
“Then buy it at that price, and he will be only too glad to sell!”
“Alas, money is short! Whence is it to come?”
“So then, the Germans must get all, and we nothing!”
They talked on, with sad forebodings. How hard it was that such land should be lost to them—so near, so fruitful, so suitable for their sons and sons-in-law! They could have founded another village there, with fertile meadows and water in abundance. … But there, all was of no avail! The Germans were there, they would get the upper hand and crush the life
