Just as poverty-stricken and ruined were the border districts with a
Polish population. But the Polish peasant in all his poverty and
disorder at least kept the greater vivacity of his race. Even on the
estates of the higher nobility, of the starosts, and of the crown, all
the farm buildings were dilapidated and useless. Any one who wished to
send a letter must employ a special messenger, for there was no post
in the country. To be sure, no need was felt of one in the villages,
for most of the nobility knew no more of reading and writing than the
peasants. If any one fell ill, he found no help but the secret
remedies of some old village crone, for there was not an apothecary in
the whole country. If any one needed a coat he could do no better than
take needle in hand himself--for many miles there was no tailor,
unless one of the trade made a trip through the country on the chances
of finding work. If any one wished to build a house he must provide
for artisans from the West as best he could. The country people were
still living in a hopeless struggle with the packs of wolves, and
there were few villages in which every winter men and animals were not
decimated. If the smallpox broke out, or any other contagious disease
came upon the country, the people saw the white image of pestilence
flying through the air and alighting upon their cottages; they knew
what such an apparition meant: it was the desolation of their homes,
the wiping out of whole communities; and with gloomy resignation they
awaited their fate.
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