'What sort of people are these Frenchmen?'
Here Wojtek's wisdom suddenly became aware of a pitfall into which it might be easier to tumble headforemost than to come out again. He knew that the French were the French. He had heard something about them from old people, who had related that they were always fighting with everyone; he knew at least that they were very strange people. But how could he explain this to Bartek to make him understand how strange they were? First of all, therefore, he repeated the question, 'What sort of people?'
'Why, yes.'
Now there were three nations known to Wojtek: living in the centre were the Poles; on the one side were the Russians, on the other the Germans. But there were various kinds of Germans. Preferring, therefore, to be clear rather than accurate, he said:
'What sort of people are the French? How can I tell you; they must be like the Germans, only worse.'
At which Bartek exclaimed: 'Oh, the low vermin!'
Up to that time he had had one feeling only with regard to the French, and that was a feeling of unspeakable fear. Henceforth this Prussian Reservist cherished the hatred of a true patriot towards them. But not feeling quite clear about it all, he asked again: 'Then Germans will be fighting Germans?'
Here Wojtek, like a second Socrates, chose to adopt a simile, and answered:
'But doesn't your dog, Łysek, fight with my Burek?'
Bartek opened his mouth and looked at his instructor for a moment: 'Ah! true.'