Chapter VI: Part 2: , Act IV, Sc. 3.—Translator’s Note

She burst into tears.

At the first words, Yagna had started up, struck with the feeling that the fight had been about herself. But presently she sat down again upon a chest, pressing her lips to the cherry-blossoms to cool them.

Those of the house were astounded: though the incident was the talk of the whole village, no whisper of it had yet come to Boryna’s cabin.

He growled: “Like has fallen foul of like—one ruffian of another. No great harm done!”

“But,” Yagna inquired after a pause, “why did they fight?”

“On account of you!” the old woman said, with a spiteful snarl.

“Pray speak the truth!”

“It is as I say. Matthew was at the mill, boasting in the presence of some men that he had been with you in your bedroom.... And Antek heard, and gave him a beating.”

“Spare me your jests; I have no mind to hear them!”

“Will you not believe me? Then ask the whole village; they will tell you the same. Did I say that Matthew was speaking true? Nay, I only repeated the village talk.”

“He is a liar ... a foul liar and a villain!”

“Who can protect you from evil tongues? They will often slander you beyond the grave.”

“’Tis well ... ’tis well he beat him!... I fain would add to the beating!” she hissed vindictively.

“Oho! The chicken’s claws turn a hawk’s talons!”

“Aye! for the lie he told, I would kill him on the spot, the false hound!”

“To everyone I say he lies, but they believe me not, and backbite you.”

“Oh, but Antek will silence them—cut their tongues out!”

Yagustynka leered at her maliciously. “Is he to fight the whole world for you, eh?”

“O you Judas woman, you! With your sly hints and whispers, and the joy you take in giving pain!”

Yagna was now in a towering passion; perhaps she had never yet been so angry in her life. What she felt would have been beyond bearing, but for Antek’s conduct that she now heard of. She was flooded with tenderness, and unspeakable gratitude filled her heart that he had so well taken her part and avenged her. Nevertheless, she exhibited so much ill temper at everything that went on in the house, and rated Yuzka and Vitek so sternly for every trifle, that old Boryna felt uneasy, and came to sit by her side, stroking her face and asking:

“What is it ails my Yagna?”

“What should ail me? Naught.—Let me be: would ye make love before everybody?” And she pushed him roughly away.

“He would soothe and blandish and cuddle her, would he? That withered fellow, that spent worn-out old man!” she thought, and a feeling of strong dislike welled up within her. Not till now had she noticed his age: now, for the first time, there came to her a sense of loathing, a deep-seated repugnance, almost hatred. She now looked upon him with glad concealed contempt; for he had really aged a good deal in these last days: his hands were shaking, and he dragged his feet and stooped.

“That nerveless old driveller!”

She shook herself with disgust, and set to thinking all the more intensely of Antek. No longer did she strive against the memories that pressed upon her, nor seek not to hear those sweet tempting whispers of his.

The day dragged on, intolerably slow. Every minute she would go out into the porch, or as far as the orchard behind the hut, and look through the trees at the fields beyond ... or lean against the wattled fence which stood between her and the village road that ran past the farm buildings. With wistful looks, she would scan the country-side—the snow-covered lands—the dark forest at the sky-line.... But she took note of nothing, so deep was she plunged in the joyous knowledge that _he_ cared for her, and would let no one do her wrong.

“And he would serve anyone the same! What a man he is, what a fighter!” she thought with tender admiration. “Oh, if he came in sight now, I could not resist him for one instant!”

The haystack stood close by, near the road, but at some distance within the field. Flocks of sparrows chirruped round it, and took shelter in a great hole that had been scooped out of one side. The farm-lad, though ordered by Boryna to go up and take the hay always from the top, had not cared to do so, but pulled truss after truss out of the side, till enough had gone to form a sort of small den, in which two persons might easily find room.

“Come out—come out behind the haystack!” Her mind was continually repeating Antek’s petition. But now she ran back to the hut; the bells were beginning to ring for Vespers, and she herself had a longing to go to church, in the vague hope of meeting him there.

Him she did not meet: but instead, in the very entrance, she saw Hanka, greeted her, and held back for her to put her hand first into the holy water stoup. But Hanka neither made answer nor stretched out her hand to the stoup, but passed on, darting out of her eyes a look at her—a deadly look! as though she would have stoned her willingly.

Yagna’s eyes grew dim. Such a slight! so open an exhibition of hate! Yet, from the pew in which she seated herself, she could not help fixing her eyes on that pallid face.

“Antek’s wife—and so haggard, so ghastly to see! Well, well!” But her thoughts soon wandered away from Hanka. They were singing in the choir, and the organ played sweet music, so low and soft and mysterious that it absorbed all her attention. Never, no, never had she felt so happy in church, so serenely blissful! She did not even say prayers; her book lay before her unopened; her beads were in her hand, but she did not tell them. She sighed dreamily, and looked up to see the shadows creeping slowly in through the windows, and to gaze on the pictures, the scintillating lights, the gilded woodwork, and the now scarce visible many-coloured decorations. Amongst all these marvels, her soul soared up, lost itself in the painted skies, in the chanted prayers and the faint dying melodies that she heard. Dissolved in a serene ecstasy, oblivious of everything round her, she fancied she saw the saints come down out of their pictures, approach her with smiles of infinite kindness, and stretch forth their hands in blessings over her and over all the people.

She ceased to dream only when Evensong was at an end and the organ hushed. The silence roused her from her trance; unwillingly she rose and went out with the others. And now again, at the church-door, she met with Hanka, who stood and faced her as though intending to speak—but only darted a look of hatred at her and went out.

“What, does the silly woman think to daunt me by glaring?” was Yagna’s mental comment as she walked home.

Evening had fallen now—quiet, dull, holy. It was murky outside; the stars’ faint light shone dim in the hazy sky; a little snow came down, flake by flake, looking like long fluffy threads, and noiselessly fluttering past the window-panes.

In the cabin, too, it was quiet and somewhat dull. Simon had come as soon as evening had closed in—ostensibly to visit them, but really to meet with Nastka; and the two sat side by side, talking in low voices. Boryna was not home yet. Yagustynka sat on one side of the fire-place, peeling potatoes. On the other, Pete was playing a tune on his violin, very gently, but with such sad notes that now and then Lapa would whine, or vent a long-drawn howl. Vitek was there too, along with Yuzka. After a time, Yagna, whom the tune made nervous, called out from the bedroom:

“Pete, pray leave off: that music of yours is too dismal!”

And the violin sounded no more. But presently it was heard anew; for subdued strains, all but inaudible, now came from the stable, whither Pete had withdrawn; and there he continued playing far into the night. When Boryna came in, supper was getting ready.

“Well, the Voyt’s wife is brought to bed. Folk are swarming there so that Dominikova has to drive them off, they come in such crowds. Yagna, you must go and see her to-morrow.”

“Instantly—I will go instantly!” she cried, excited and eager all at once.

“Very well; and I’ll go with you.”

“Ah! Perhaps to-morrow will do better.” And she added, to explain her quick change of mind: “Yes, I should prefer going in the day-time. The snow is falling, it is dark, and you say there are so many people.”

He acquiesced; all the more readily because the smith’s wife and children entered the hut just then.

“Why, where is your goodman?”

“At Vola. The threshing-machine there is out of order, and the manor blacksmith cannot put it to rights.”

“Somehow,” Yagustynka observed, in tones full of significance, “somehow he goes very often to the manor now.”

“Have ye any objection?”

“None in the world. I only note one thing and another, and watch to see what will come of it all.”

Her words failed to set tongues wagging; no one cared to talk loud. Each spoke to his neighbour in drowsy whispers; all were heavy with sleep, of which they had had too little the night before. They supped, too, with but little relish, and looked (not without surprise) at Yagna, who was in high spirits, bustling about the room, pressing them to eat, even after they had laid down their spoons, bursting into laughter, no one knew why, and sitting down beside the girls and talking nonsense, to break off on a sudden and run out to the other lodgings ... and return when she had got only as far as the passage. Truth is, she was racked with a fever of anguish and dread. The evening wore away sluggishly, wearily, whilst her longing to go out behind the hut—to the haystack—grew ever stronger and stronger. Yet she could not make up her mind to go. She feared to be seen—she feared to commit sin. She was putting forth all her power of self-control, and trembling with the agony of effort; her soul cried out for liberty like a chained-up dog; her heart was rent within her. No, no! she could not bear it!... Perhaps he was standing there ... looking about for her ... he might be prowling round the cabin.... Perhaps, hidden in the orchard, he was even then looking in at the window at her ... and imploring ... and pining away with sad desire!... Then she thought she would run out, but only for a minute ... only to say one word, to tell him he must not come to her nor she to him, for it was a sin.... And now she was looking for her apron to put it on ... and now she made for the door.... But there something caught hold of her by the nape of the neck, as it were, and pulled her back.—Yagustynka’s eyes followed each of her movements, like a sleuth-hound.—Nastka too looked strangely at her.—And the old man too!—Did they know? had they found out anything?... “No, no; I will not go out to-day.”

Lapa, barking outside the hut, roused her at last from the state of obsession she was in. The cabin was nearly empty. Only Yagustynka sat there, dozing by the fireside. Her goodman, too, was standing at the window and looking out; for the dog barked more and more furiously.

“No doubt, Antek, no longer able to wait, had now....” She broke off in terror.

But only old Klemba stood there in the doorway. Behind him, shaking and stamping the snow off their clothes and boots, came Vinciorek, Gregory “the Lame,” Michael Caban, Franek Bylitsa (Hanka’s uncle), Valenty “the Wry-mouthed,” and Joseph Vahnik!

Boryna marvelled much at this deputation, as it seemed to be, but said not a word, except to answer their greetings. He shook hands all round, bade them be seated on the benches he pushed forwards, and offered his snuff-box.

They all sat down in a row, and took a pinch, nothing loath; one sneezed, another blew his nose, a third wiped his eyes, the snuff being of first-class strength.... They then looked round them, and some spoke a few words—about the snowy weather, about hard times—while others assented with grunts and nods: all, however, approaching at leisure the object of their visit.

Boryna shifted uneasily on his bench, stared at them, and attempted by various means to draw them out and learn what they would have of him.

He failed. They sat there in a row, hoary-headed clean-shaven old men, nearly of an age, hale as yet, though bowed down by years and labour; ponderous as moss-grown boulders in the fields, rugged, tough-sinewed, ungainly, but hard-headed and shrewd, they fought shy of speaking before the time, and approached the matter in hand circuitously, as sagacious sheep-dogs do a flock they aim at driving through a gate.

At length, however, Klemba cleared his throat, expectorated, and said with a dignified mien:

“How long shall we hang back and beat about the bush? We come to know if ye are on our side or not.”

“Without you we cannot decide aught.”

“For ye are the first man amongst us all.”

“And wisdom has been given you by our Lord.”

“And though ye have no office, yet are ye the leader of us all.”

“Also our common interests are at stake.”

Each man had his say, and every one was so complimentary to Boryna that he turned red, held up his hands in deprecation, and exclaimed:

“Kind friends, I do not even know as yet what brings you hither!”

“Our forest! After Twelfth Night, they intend to cut it down.”

“I know they even now saw timber at the mill.”

“But that belongs to Jews in Rudka, as we thought ye knew.”

“I did not: I have little time to go about and question folk.”

“Yet ye were first to make complaint against the Squire?”

“Because I thought that he had sold the timber of our clearing.”

“Why, whose else? say whose!” Caban interrupted.

“That on the land he bought himself; his own.”

“Aye, but he also has sold the timber of Vilche Doly, and they are now to cut it down!”

“That he can only do if we agree!”

“And yet the trees are marked already; they have measured out the land, and will begin to fell the timber after Twelfth Night.”

“If ’tis thus”—Boryna paused to reflect—“if so, then we shall enter a complaint before the commissary.”

“‘From seed-time to harvest, complainant, thou starvest!’” Caban muttered; and Valenty “the Wry-mouthed” chimed in:

“‘In dying condition, folk need no physician.’”

“A complaint will do this much: ere the official prohibition is issued, there will not remain a single stump of the wood—_our_ wood.—Remember what they did at Debitsa!”

“‘The wolf that tastes a single lamb, with the whole flock its maw will cram.’ The manor folk are like the wolf.”

“This,” Boryna said, “must be prevented.”

“Matthias, these are words of wisdom. To-morrow, when mass is over, the farmers are to meet at my cabin and see what we should do; and they have sent to ask you to come over with good advice.”

“Shall they all be there?”

“Yes, and just after mass.”

“To-morrow?—What can I do?—You see, I must be to-morrow at Vola without fail. Kinsmen of mine are dividing land there, quarrelling and bringing actions one against another. I have promised to arbitrate there, so that the orphans shall suffer no wrong. So I must go; but I agree to stand by the meeting’s decision.”

They left the hut somewhat dissatisfied. He had approved them and agreed with all they said; but they had the impression he was not sincerely holding with them.

“You will decide as you choose,” he was thinking; “I shall be clear of it. Neither the Voyt, nor the miller, nor any of the foremost men here follow you.... The Squire, if he knows I am not hostile to him, will compensate me more willingly for the cow; and he may come to an understanding with each of us separately.—They are foolish: it were better to let him cut the very last sapling down—and then go to law—lodge a complaint—get an injunction—and so wring out of him far more than he would have given by any agreement.”

Long after everyone else was in bed, Matthias still sat up, poring over a board on which he had made calculations with chalk, and revolving many things in his mind.

The next day, immediately after breakfast, he ordered the sledge to be got ready.

“As I said last night, I am off to Vola. Yagna, take good care of the house; if anyone should ask after me, say I was obliged to go.—And do not forget to look in at the Voyt’s.”

“Will ye come home late?” she asked, concealing the joy she felt.

“About supper-time: perhaps later.”

He put on his best suit, which she brought him from the store-room. Instead of a button, she passed a ribbon through his shirt button-holes and tied it; she helped him to dress, and hurried Pete on, with feverish impatience to get the horses harnessed in a trice. She was all the time in rapid movement, and her heart cried out for gladness: her goodman would be absent for the whole day, and was to return late ... perhaps only near midnight! While she would remain alone!—And at dusk—at dusk—she could go out—out behind the haystack! Aha!... She exulted in her soul; her eyes beamed with laughter, she stretched and drew herself up; shocks as of tingling and burning electric fluid went through her with most exquisitely sweet torment.... And then, all at once and unexpectedly, a strange feeling of dread took hold of her, and a dead hush came over her soul, and she looked on, as one dazed, at Boryna, as he put on his cap and gave his orders to Vitek.

“Oh, pray, pray, take me with you!” she whispered low.

“But—but,” Boryna stammered in astonishment, “who will take your place at home?”

“Yet take me.—It is St. Stephen’s feast to-day, and there is little to do. Take me; I feel so dejected here!” And she begged so hard that—much as he wondered at her whim—he made no further difficulties. A few minutes later, she was ready, and off they set from the hut, the sledge swaying and sweeping round with all the might of straining hocks and beating hoofs.