CHAPTER IV

Many years ago a certain nobleman had lived in the part of Poland to which we have introduced the reader, who was called a "crank" by his neighbours. He did not lead a dissipated life, and had married only when well advanced in years; but there was a stain upon his character--namely this: he indulged in teaching the peasants. He opened an elementary school where all the children were taught reading, writing and arithmetic, had religious instruction, and learnt a little tailoring and cobbling. Every boy had to learn to make simple suits, shirts and caps. All this formed the basis of the education. Afterwards he engaged a gardener, a blacksmith, a locksmith, a carpenter and a wheelwright, and the pupils now passed on to instruction in these trades, as well as to advanced arithmetic, geometry and drawing. The nobleman himself taught geography and history, read instructive books to the pupils, and told them countless anecdotes, all of which had the same moral--namely, that being honest, patient, industrious and thrifty, among other good qualities, gave a man the true value of a human being.

The neighbouring landowners complained that he was spoiling the peasants, and experts laughed because he taught the boys all the trades. But he shrugged his shoulders, and said that if there were more Robinson Crusoes on earth, forced to know something of all trades while they were young, there would be fewer ignoramuses, loafers, scoundrels, or slaves tied to one place.

"Besides," said the quaint old man, "this is a whim of mine, if you like that better. You breed particular kinds of dogs, cattle and horses; why shouldn't I breed a particular class of human beings?"

He died suddenly, and his relations inherited his property, ran through it in a few years, and the school was forgotten. But it had produced a certain number of men of great economic, intellectual and moral value, though none of these ever occupied prominent positions.

The nobleman's spirit would have rejoiced at his pupils' progress, for he had not brought them up to be geniuses, but to be useful, average citizens such as are always needed in the community. One of these pupils was Kazimierz Goslawski. He, too, had learnt various trades, but he took a special liking to two of them--those of blacksmith and locksmith. He could also draw a plan of an engine or a building, make mathematical calculations, prepare a wooden model of a foundry, and at a pinch make his own clothes and boots. The longer Goslawski lived, the more he appreciated his master's methods, and realized the practical importance of the anecdotes. He held his benefactor's memory sacred, and he and his wife and little daughter prayed for his soul every day. Goslawski had been working in the mechanical part of Adler's factory for seven years, and was the soul of the workshop. His earnings amounted to two and sometimes even to three roubles a day. There was a certain head-mechanic knocking about who drew a salary of fifteen hundred roubles a year, but he occupied himself more with factory scandals than with his own work.

In order to uphold his authority, this mechanic gave orders and explanations, but he did it in such a way that no one either understood them or attempted to carry them out; and this was a blessing for the factory, for had his mechanical ideas been realized in iron, steel and wood, the greater part of the engines would have had to go into the melting-pot.

It was only after Goslawski had found out the damage done to an engine, and put his hand to repairing it, that things went right again. More than once this simple locksmith had replaced parts of engines; unconsciously he had sometimes made inventions without anyone knowing about it. If it had been known, the invention would have been put down to the genius of the head-mechanic, who always boasted of his achievements, and regretted that in this unintelligent Poland one had no chances of becoming director of several factories, no matter of what kind.

Adler had too keen an eye not to see Goslawski's value and the incompetence of his head-mechanic. But Goslawski was made of too dangerous a material to be given a place as independent manager, and the head-mechanic was a good scandal-monger; so he was kept in the foreground, and the other did the work. In this way everybody was satisfied, and the world at large never suspected that the well-known factory was really run by the brains of a "stupid Polish workman."

Goslawski was a man of medium height, with the coarse hands and bow-legs of a workman. When he was bending over his vice he was indistinguishable from the others; but when he looked up from under his mop of dark hair, his thin, pale face showed that he was an intellectually developed human being with a nervous disposition. Yet his calmness and the look in his thoughtful grey eyes proved that reason prevailed over his temperament.

He talked neither too much nor too little, and never too loudly. Sometimes he got animated, but never let himself be carried away by excitement; and he knew how to listen, looking attentively and intelligently all the while into the speaker's eyes. Only to factory scandals he listened with half an ear and without interrupting his work. "What is the good of these things?" he used to say. But he would interrupt his most important work to listen to explanations coming within the range of his profession. He kept himself a little aloof from his fellow-workmen, though he was always friendly and ready to give advice, or even help, in small jobs. Yet he would never ask anybody's help for himself, for he had the same respect for a man's knowledge or time that he had for his money. The aim of his life was to establish a smith's workshop of his own. For this reason he hoarded up his earnings; he did not trust his money to the bank, and did not like to lend it to his fellow-workmen: rather would he give away a rouble or two now and then. For he was not mean: both he and his wife had plenty of clothes, plain but good, and on Sundays he would not begrudge himself a glass of beer or even a glass of wine. By means of this reasonable economy he had saved about eighteen hundred roubles, and was now looking about for the loan of a small building on some landowner's estate, in which he could set up his workshop. In exchange he would give preference to the landowner's orders. These arrangements are often made between a landowner and his smith, and Goslawski had a place of this kind in view for Michaelmas.

His earnings in the mill were rather uncertain. When a new line was tried in the manufacture of cotton goods (and in this Goslawski was unequalled), he was very well paid by the piece; but when the experiment had turned out a success, and he had taught others how to do the work, his pay was reduced by half, or even three-quarters; sometimes he was only paid the tenth part. To keep the level of his wages higher, he would often work overtime, come early and stay late.

When the workmen complained that the boss was cheating them, Goslawski replied that they could not wonder, for they were cheating him in return. But sometimes he would lose patience, and mutter between his teeth:

"Vile German thief!"

Goslawski's wife wished to help her husband by working in the mill too, but he gave her a good scolding.

"You had better look after the child and the dinner! For every rouble you earn at the mill, two are lost at home."

He knew quite well, however, that she would earn more and the home would lose less; but he was ambitious, and did not want the wife of a future master to mix with common factory women. He was a good husband; sometimes he grumbled that the dinner was unpunctual or badly cooked, that the child was dirty, or that his shirt had been made too blue. But he never made a scene or raised his voice. On Sundays he took his wife to church, a few versts off, and when it was fine he carried his little girl there too. Whenever he went into the town, he bought a toy for the child and some little piece of finery for his wife. He loved his little girl, though he was sorry not to have a son.

"What is the good of a girl?" he said. "You bring her up for another, and have to provide her with a dowry into the bargain to get her settled. With a son it is different: he is a support to you in your old age, and might take over the workshop."

"Just you get the workshop started, and then the son will come too," his wife replied.

"Oh, well, you have been saying that for three years; there is not much hope of you, as far as I can see," said the locksmith.

His wife was, however, not boasting without reason this time; for in the sixth year of their marriage, about the time when young Adler returned from abroad, she had given birth to a son. Goslawski was beside himself with joy. He spent about thirty roubles on the christening, and bought his wife a new dress, not counting the expenses of the confinement. His savings were thereby diminished by several hundred roubles, but he resolved to make them up before Michaelmas.

Then, to his misfortune, "economy" was introduced into the mill. This time Goslawski cursed with the others, but he went on working with redoubled zeal. He went to the mill at five o'clock in the morning, and did not come back till eleven o'clock at night, too tired to greet his wife or kiss the children. He fell on to the bed in his clothes, and slept like a log.

Such extreme effort annoyed his fellow-workmen; and his friend Zalinski, the engineer, a fat and quick-tempered man, said to him: "Kazik, why the devil are you toadying up to the boss and spoiling other people's chances? When they went to him yesterday to complain about the wages, he said to them: 'Do as Goslawski does; then you will have enough.'"

Goslawski excused himself.

"You see, my dear fellow, my wife has been ill, and I have had very heavy expenses. I would like to make up as much as I can, because, you know, I want to start on my own. What else am I to do since that dog has reduced the wages? I must go on slaving like this, though I have a pain in my side and my head swims."

"Bah!" said Zalinski; "I suppose you will take it out of the journeymen in your own workshop."

Goslawski shook his head.

"I don't want to profit by doing wrong. I don't give what is mine for nothing, but I won't take what belongs to others, either."

And he went off to his work, which, though he was used to it, had worn him out lately to such an extent that he was not able to collect his thoughts.

"If only I can start on my own," he thought, "I shall forget all this."

But the task was too great. To feed a family, to save all he could, to make up the expenses caused by his wife's confinement, and to pay for young Adler's travels into the bargain, went beyond the strength of any human being.

He looked sad and got still thinner and paler; sometimes the perspiration would break out all over him, and he would drop his hands on his vice and wonder why his brain, usually so quick, felt quite empty and dark. Possibly he would have slackened off if he had not seen in the darkness a fiery signboard:

GOSLAWSKI'S MECHANICAL WORKSHOP....

Get on! Only three months more!

Meanwhile fortune again smiled on Adler. The demand for his goods, which were excellent, was greater than ever, and in July double the amount of orders came in. He accepted them all after consulting his confidential clerks, and bought up cotton with all his available capital. The hands were told that they would have to work until nine o'clock in the evening, and they were to be paid double for overtime. More workshops were added, and the question of how to make use of the Sundays arose. With regard to this Adler had his plan ready. Sunday work was to be paid at a double rate in the beginning, but in a measure, as the hands got used to it, the pay would be reduced.

If everything went all right, Adler calculated that the profits of the current year would make it possible for him to sell the factory, for which he would easily find a purchaser, and to take his millions and his son abroad.

Thus both the workman and the principal were simultaneously approaching the realization of their hopes.

The increased activity in the mill affected the engineering workshop in the first place. New hands were taken on, the compulsory hours were extended until nine, and overtime work until midnight. The first two hours of overtime were paid double, the next three times as much. A stricter control was introduced, and if anyone left off work before time, so much was deducted from his wages that his profits were practically reduced to nothing. The hands were weary in consequence, especially Goslawski, who, as the most expert, was obliged to work until midnight.

Even he himself felt that he could not go on at this rate, and asked for relief. The millionaire agreed, and proposed a new arrangement. Goslawski was in future to receive a fixed salary, and work with his hands only at those parts of the machinery which required the greatest exactitude. His chief business would be to supervise the general run of the work and direct others. He would in reality be the head of the workshop, and while doing the work of a simple workman receive the pay of a head-mechanic.

No German would have agreed to such a proposal, but when it was first made it flattered Goslawski. He soon realized, however, that he was being exploited again, for he had to work physically as hard as before, and had in addition a greater strain on his mind. All day long he had to rush from the vice to the anvil, and from the anvil to the lathe, and was importuned besides by his fellow-workmen, who thought that Goslawski was there not only to give them information, but to do their work for them as well.

By the end of June he looked like an automaton. He never smiled, and hardly ever talked about anything that was not connected with his work. He, who had been so particular about tidiness, began to neglect his appearance. He ceased to go to church on Sundays, and slept till midday instead. In his relations with others he became irritable. His one pleasure was to sleep; he slept like a man in convalescence. He became a little more animated perhaps, when he kissed his little son "Good-morning" or "Good-night."

Goslawski himself quite understood the state he was in. He knew that the hard work was wearing him out, but he saw no way of freeing himself from it. The contract with the landowner could not be signed before August, and he could not take possession of the workshop till October. If he left the mill he would have to live on his ready money, and spend in a few months some hundreds of roubles which were indispensable for the new start. The only thing to be done was to stick to his post and strain his strength to the utmost. Perhaps a week's rest after he had moved into his own household would restore the disturbed balance of his organism.

But he was sick of the mill. He carried a little calendar about with him on which he crossed out the days as they passed: only two months and a half now; sixty-five days; two months only!...