They had now reached the fallows. At a slight distance rose the dingy ruins of the burnt buildings; the orchard was black with charred trunks. Around stood the messuages, some of the roofs fallen in, and the chimney-stacks standing up stark and black. Near the houses a group of persons was to be seen: they were the Germans. A cask of beer stood upon the paving-stones; a man on a doorstep played the flute; the others, either lolling on benches or upon the grass, were taking their ease, in shirtsleeves, with pipes in their mouths, and drinking beer out of earthenware jugs. Some children frisked outside the house, and lusty cows and horses grazed hard by.
They saw the men coming; for they started up, looking in the direction of the newcomers, shading their eyes, and bawling out in their own speech. But one of them, an old man, said a few words, and they sat down quietly to drink again. The flute-player played his sweetest strain; high above their heads the larks sang; while from the corn, the rapid and incessant shrilling of the crickets dinned yet louder in the ear, and the piping of the quails was heard from time to time.
The ground, baked by the sun, sounded hard beneath the peasants’ feet, and the stones rang under their hobnailed boots as they drew near: the Germans remained motionless, as though they had not heard anything, but sat enjoying their beer and the fragrance of the evening air.
The men, coming in with slow ponderous tread, were close to them now, grasping their sticks tight and striving to breathe easily; but their hearts were throbbing, a hot thrill ran down their backs, and their throats went very dry. Nevertheless, they drew themselves up, and glared boldly at the Germans.
“Praised be … ,” said Roch in German, coming to a halt, while the whole company drew up in a crescent behind him.
The Germans replied in chorus, but without moving from their places. The grey-bearded old man alone rose and gazed around him, turning somewhat paler.
“We,” Roch began to say, “have come to see you on a certain matter.”
“Then sit ye down. I see that ye are husbandmen of Lipka: let us talk together in neighbourly wise—Johann! Fritz! bring settles for our neighbours.”
“Many thanks, but our business will be soon over: we may as well stand.”
“Soon over?” he cried in Polish. “Can that be, when the whole village has come?”
“That is but because the matter interests all equally.”
“Also,” Gregory added meaningly, “we have left thrice as many at home.”
“Well, we are glad to see you.—And, since ye have been the first to pay a visit, perchance ye will taste some beer with us.”
“How generous!” cried several voices. “ ’Twas not for beer we came!”
Roch hushed them with a glance. The old German said dryly:
“We are listening.”
A stillness ensued, in which quick short breathing was heard. The men of Lipka drew closer together, trembling with excitement; the Germans rose like one man and faced them in serried array, exchanging fierce looks with the peasants, and muttering low, and twirling the strands of their beards.
The women looked on, terrified; the children ran to hide in the passages; close at the wall, a few tan-coloured dogs began to snarl: while, for the space of one “Hail Mary” at least, the men stood facing one another in profound silence, like a troop of rams, with fiery eyes rolling, backs tense, heads lowered, and ready at any moment to charge one at the other. Then Roch broke the silence, thus speaking in Polish, in clear ringing tones:
“We come in the name of the whole village to request you—and in friendly wise—not to complete the purchase of Podlesie.”
“Right! Quite right! We come for that!” they all agreed, striking on the ground with their sticks.
For the Germans, this was a thunderclap.
“What says he? What would he have? We understand naught,” they stammered, thinking they had not heard aright.
Roch therefore repeated his request, this time in German; and when he had done, Matthew burst out with the words: “And to take yourselves away—you and your long trousers—to all the devils!”
At this, they jumped as though doused with boiling water. The quarrel then began and waxed furious, all the more embroiled by their fierce-sounding unintelligible jargon, as they stamped their feet and waved their arms; some of them, with lifted fists, making as if to rush at the peasants, who stood firm and immovable as a wall, eyeing them with bold looks and clenched teeth, while their hands twitched nervously upon their cudgels.
“What, are ye all mad?” exclaimed the old man, with uplifted hands. “Would ye forbid us to purchase land? Wherefore? and by what right?”
Roch calmly explained the whole situation in all its details; but the German, reddening with anger, cried out:
“The land belongs to him that pays for it!”
“We,” Roch replied gravely, “think otherwise: we think the land should belong to him that hath need of it.”
“Belong? And how? Without payment, by robbery peradventure?” he cried with a sneer.
“Our hands can give exceeding good payment,” Roch answered in the same tone.
“Why shall we waste time bandying jests? We have bought Podlesie; it is ours, and ours it shall remain. And whoso likes not this, let him go his way, and not come near us!—Well, wherefore do ye wait?”
“Wherefore?” Gregory exploded. “To tell you: ‘Hands off the land that’s ours!’ ”
“Take yourselves off it, you!”
Here someone called out: “Mark this: ours has been a neighbourly request … so far!”
“Ye threaten us? Then we’ll go to law! Oh, there are means to master you. Your term of jail for the forest brawl is not yet done: you will get some more, and do both terms together!” The old man attempted to laugh, but was too much upset, and his companions were exasperated.
“Ye lousy devils!”
“Thievish, stinking hounds!” they shouted in German, writhing about like snakes disturbed in their nest.
“Dogs’ blood! be silent when men speak to you!”
