Chapter V (1)

It was pitch-dark in the lanes; in every cottage all the lights were out; the laggards were now dropping in to church. Outside stood a number of carts, with horses unharnessed, whose pawing and snorting made their presence heard in the gloom. Close to the belfry, several Manor-house coaches loomed apart.

Hanka, on entering the porch, set something straight in her bodice, loosened her shawl that wrapped her too closely, and vigorously elbowed her way to the first pews.

The church was very full indeed. The close-pressed congregation was massed in the aisles; and, with mingled prayers, ejaculations and coughs, they swayed and swung from wall to wall, till the banners stuck in the pews, and the fir saplings which adorned the church, began to wave also.

Scarcely had she pushed through to her place, when the priest began the service.

They fell on their knees devoutly, and the press became still greater, till all knelt close together, like a field of heads—a cluster of human plants—but with eyes swiftly darting and flying up to the high altar, whereon stood the figure of Jesus, risen from the dead, with bare limbs, draped only in a crimson mantle, holding His banner in His hand, and showing His five wounds to them all!

By degrees their prayers grew intensely fervent; words uttered low, and presently sighs, came welling up to their lips, like the sounds of raindrops falling on leaves; and then their heads bent lower still, their arms were stretched forth towards the altar beseechingly, and stifled weeping was heard. Under the shadow of the dark naves with their lofty pillars, the crowd seemed as clumps of brushwood amongst the great trees of some immemorial forest; for, though the altar was ablaze with tapers, the church itself was shrouded in gloom, and the black night crept in through the windows and the wide-open portal.

But Hanka could not compose herself to pray; she trembled all over, not less upset than when in her father-in-law’s store-room a while before.

Once more, and shudderingly, she felt her hands plunging in the cool grains of corn; and she pressed her shoulders forward, to make sure that the bundle was still nestling between her breasts.

Joy and terror alternately held her in their grip. The rosary slipped from her fingers; she could not remember her prayers; looking round with eyes aflame, she recognized no one, though Yuzka and Yagna with her mother sat close by.

In the pews which stood on either side of the sanctuary, the ladies from the manors of Rudka, Modlitsa and Volka were reading out of prayer-books; at the sacristy-door several squires stood talking to each other; gaudily arrayed, the miller’s wife and the organist’s were standing close to the high altar on either side. But, just outside the Communion railings, once the place for the first amongst the Lipka farmers—who were the overseers at every service, who carried the canopy over his Reverence and supported his steps in the processions—there now knelt a dense multitude of peasants from other villages, and scarce any to represent Lipka but the Voyt, the Soltys and the carroty-headed blacksmith.

Besides Hanka’s, other eyes too wandered in that direction, sorrowful, and remembering the absent dear ones. Those men, once the foremost in the parish, were alone not to be seen there now! The thought depressed them, and bore many a head down to the pavement, with painful memories of their present bereavement.

Alas! it was the greatest festival in the whole year—Easter! So many other faces were there, from other parts of the parish, full of gladness, though a little emaciated by the long fast of Lent. Folk had come, splendidly clad, to swagger in the church like Manor-folk, and occupy all the best places; and the poor men of Lipka—where were they? In dungeons, suffering cold and hunger, and longing for home!

For all but them it was the great day of joy. The others would presently return home and enjoy life and rest and food, the sunny springtime, and friendly talk: but not the poor Lipka folk!

They would crawl back to their desolate homesteads, lonely, drooping, miserable; would eat their Easter meal in tears, and go to their couches full of unrest and vain desires.

“O Lord! O Lord!” were the dreary half-stifled ejaculations that went up around Hanka’s pew, and made her at last come to herself again and look upon the well-known faces and eyes dimmed with tears. Even Yagna hung her head over her book, crying bitterly, till her mother nudged her to bring her back to reality. But the source of her misery was far different, and nothing could allay it. Was it not at Christmas, in this very pew, that she had heard _his_ burning whisper and felt _his_ head droop down upon her knee? The thought tore her breast with a sudden excruciating yearning.

It was then that his Reverence began to preach, and they all rose from their knees, thronging round the pulpit as close as might be—every face turned to hear him. First he spoke of our Lord’s Passion, and of those vile Jews who crucified Him for coming to save the world, deal justice to the oppressed, and uphold the cause of the needy. And he set the sufferings of Jesus so vividly before their eyes that many a one grew hot with indignation, and more than one peasant, eager to avenge Christ, clenched his fist; and all the womenfolk sobbed aloud in chorus.

And then he turned upon the people themselves; bending forward over the pulpit, he shook his fists, crying out that every day, every hour, everywhere, Jesus was crucified by our sins, slain by our wickedness, our ungodliness, our contempt for God’s law; that we all crucified Him within ourselves anew, forgetful of His sacred wounds and of the blood He shed for our salvation!

At the words, the whole congregation burst into a tempest of wailing and sobbing; and such a storm of lamentation swept through aisles and nave that he had to pause awhile. Then he went on to speak, but more cheerful and with words of comfort, of the Resurrection of Christ. Of that springtide which the Lord in His bounty sends—and will always send—to sinful men, until such time as He shall come to judge the living and the dead, and abase the proud, and hurl the wicked into the fires of hell, and place the good on His right hand in everlasting glory. Yea! the time should come when all injustice should have an end, all wrong receive its punishment, all tears be wiped away, all evil enchained for ever!

He spoke so earnestly and with such kindness of heart that every word of his sank into their minds with sweet mastery, and brought sunshine into every soul; and everyone felt consoled and radiant—except his hearers of Lipka. These quivered with anguish, with the remembrance of the wrongs done them racking their minds. They burst out crying and groaning, and threw themselves down upon the pavement with outstretched arms, asking from the bottom of their hearts for mercy and relief in their woes.

Throughout the church the emotion was profound. A universal cry arose; but soon they remembered where they were, raised up the prostrate women of Lipka, and comforted them with kind words. His Reverence, too, deeply moved, wiped away his tears with his surplice sleeve; and then he reminded them how our Lord chastiseth them that He loveth; and said that though they had not done aright, their punishment would very shortly be ended. “Let them but trust in the Lord, and they would very shortly see the return of their husbands.”

Thus he quieted and relieved them, and they once more began to take confidence.

Presently the priest, from the high altar, intoned the grand “Resurrection chant”; the organ took it up with a roar and boomed sonorously; all the bells rang out and pealed aloud. And then his Reverence, bearing the Most Holy Sacrament, surrounded with a thin blue cloud of incense smoke and the tumultuous din in the belfry, came down towards the people. The chant was continued, bursting forth from every throat; the waves of the crowd tossed and rolled, a fiery blast of enthusiasm dried every tear and lifted every soul to Heaven. So all together, like a living and moving human grove, swaying hither and thither as they sang the hymn in grand unison, went forward in procession, following the priest holding the Monstrance aloft in front of him, as a golden sun that burned above their heads, with chants sounding on all sides and bright tapers all around, scarce visible through the smoke shot forth from the censers: the object of the gaze of every eye, of the love of every heart!

With slow and measured steps did the procession wend along the nave and thread the aisles, in a close-packed, surging, vociferously sonorous crowd.

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! The noise was deafening; the very pillars and arches thrilled to the chant. Hearts and throats burst forth with one accord; and those glowing voices, instinct with mystic fire, flew up to the vault like flame-birds, and sailed out afar into the night, seeking the sun away in those regions to which at such times the soul of man mounts upon the wings of rapture.

It was close on midnight when the service ended and the congregation began to break up. Hanka lingered behind. She had been praying ecstatically; for the priest’s words had filled her with confidence, and the service itself, together with the memory of what she had that very day achieved, gave her such intense joy that she desired to lay it all at the feet of Jesus Risen. But Ambrose at last came jingling his keys and signifying to her that she must now leave the church.

As she went out, even that passion of fear for Antek which lived within her heart and was wont to start up on the slightest occasion, had as she thought suddenly died out of her.

She saw at a distance the rest of her household plodding home. The carts were rolling along in an unbroken procession, and the foot-passengers had to go in groups by the side of the road, almost invisible now that the moon had set and darkness reigned.

In the warm quiet night, damp with abundant dew, the breeze blowing athwart the fields was laden with the raw moist odour of the earth; and from the roads there came the honey-sweet fragrance of budding poplars and birches. Folk swarmed along through the shadows; where the gloom was less pitch-black, a few heads appeared, dimly visible. Steps and voices resounded on every side; angry dogs barked, rushing along behind the palings; and in hut and cabin, lights began to gleam.

Hanka, after taking a look into the byre and stable as she entered, went in and laid herself down at once.

“Let him but return and be master here: I shall never say a word to him of what has been,” was her resolution while she was undressing.—“Ah, but,” she thought once more, hearing Yagna opening the door on the other side, “what if he should fall and go to her again?”

Listening, thinking, she lay still for some time. All was growing silent, with the hum of voices fading into the distance, and the faint clatter of the last wagons going away.

“——Then there would be no God, no justice in this world!” she ejaculated fiercely.—But a deep sleep came over her, and she gave up thinking of this.

* * * * *

The village awoke very late the next day.

Morning was already opening his pale-blue slumberous eyes, and as yet those of the Lipka folk were all fast closed.

The sun rose directly in the East, making the ponds and the dewy meadows glitter: its beams floated down from the pallid sky above, singing to the world its Hallelujah—its song of warmth and light.

Merry and sparkling, that song was echoed among the ground-mists: birds twittered gladly, the waters tinkled and bubbled with mirth, the great woods murmured, the breeze blew, the young leaves quivered, the very clods were a-tremble; and from the undulating fleeces on the cornlands, bright dewdrops fell like tears upon the earth.

“Ah! the grand day of joy for us is dawning:
Conqueror of death, Christ rose on Easter morning!
Hallelujah!”

Yes, Christ had risen—He, tortured and slain by the wickedness of men. Again He had returned to life, He, the Well-beloved, as light rising up in darkness; had opened the cruel grip of death; for the welfare of man He had vanquished the invincible. And behold Him now, in that spring season, hiding mysteriously in His sacred sun, to sow happiness throughout the world—to rouse the faint—to quicken the dead—to raise the fallen ones, and make fertile the fallows!

One cry echoed over all the land: Hallelujah! for the great day that the Lord had made!

In Lipka alone were the folk less uproariously joyful than in former years.

They slept most soundly. Only when the sun had risen above the orchards did the people begin to move, and the doors to creak, and unkempt tousled heads to peep outside the cabins at the country-side steeped in light, ringing with the songs of larks, and overspread with delicate verdure.

So at Boryna’s, too, the folk were sleeping. Hanka alone, anxious that Pete should get the horses and britzka ready, rose a little earlier, and then set to making out the portions of the Hallow-fare for each.

Yuzka, fussy and chattering, was presently engaged in tidying the children, and putting on their best clothes; and at the well in the court-yard Pete and Vitek were washing themselves thoroughly, while old Bylitsa amused himself with the dog in the porch, and from time to time sniffed inquiringly. Had Hanka yet begun slicing the sausages?

According to custom immemorial, they lit no fire that day, but ate the Hallow-fare cold. Hanka had just fetched it out of old Boryna’s apartments, and was setting it out on plates, for everyone to get an equal portion of sausage, ham, cheese, bread, and eggs, and sweet cake.

Then, having first completed her own toilet, she called everyone in ... even Yagna, who at once made her appearance, beautifully arrayed, and looking fair as the dawning sun, her eyes of turquoise-blue shining beneath her glossy flaxen hair.—All were in the very best apparel. Vitek, indeed, was barefooted; but he wore a new spencer with bright buttons; the latter begged from Pete, who made his appearance clean-shaven, his hair freshly cut straight over his forehead, wearing a completely new suit—a black-blue _zupan_ with green and yellow-striped trousers, and a shirt tied with a red ribbon. When he came in, everyone was amazed at his transformation, and Yuzka clapped her hands with delight.

“O Pete! your own mother would not know you!”

And Bylitsa observed: “Once he has thrown off that dog’s skin of a uniform, he’s as fine a peasant as any!”

Greatly flattered, Pete smiled, rolled his eyes at Yagna, and drew himself up stiffly.

Hanka, crossing herself, drank to each in turn and made them sit down at table, on the benches. Even Vitek took a seat timidly at one end.

They ate with the utmost deliberation, taking into themselves with religious silence all the savour of the food they had gone without for so many weeks. The sausages had a strong flavour of the garlic with which they had been abundantly supplied; the room reeked with it, and the dogs pressed in to enjoy its pungent scent.

No one said a word until the first pangs of hunger had been appeased.

Pete was first to speak. “Are we to start directly?”

“Yes, as soon as breakfast is over.”

“Yagustynka,” Yuzka reminded her, “wished to go to town with you.”

“If she come in time, she shall: but I do not wait for her.”

“Any provender?”

“Enough for one feed only: we return in the evening.”

They continued to eat till their faces were flushed with delight, and they felt their garments tight about them, and some had eyes starting from their sockets. This slowness in eating was intentional, that they might stow away as much as possible and enjoy their meal to the full; and when Hanka rose from table, there was nothing empty about them; Pete and Vitek even carried away to the stable all the remains of their portions, to finish them later.

“Now,” Hanka’s command rang out, “put the horses to, this instant!”—And, having made up for her husband such a parcel as she scarce could lift, she dressed for the journey.

Yagustynka came in quite out of breath, and just as the horses were pawing the ground outside the cabin.

“We were about to start without you!”

“Alas! and the Hallow-fare is over?” She sniffed ruefully and drew a long breath.

“There is yet a morsel or two: sit down and take what’s left.”

The poor hungry creature needed no pressing. Ravenous as a wolf, she set to, and swept the platter clean.

“When the Lord Jesus created the pig, He knew well what He was doing!” she exclaimed, after a few mouthfuls; adding, as a gentle hint in the form of a joke: “Strange, though, that men let it wallow in the mud during life, and are afterwards so willing to wash it in vodka!”

“Well, here is some: drink our healths and be quick: there is no time!”

In about the space of a Pater, they were off. From the britzka, Hanka reminded Yuzka not to forget her father. She immediately went to him with a plateful of various meats, and tried to speak with him. Though he did not reply, he swallowed all she put in his mouth, staring vacantly as ever. Possibly he might have taken some more; but Yuzka soon tired of feeding him, and ran out to the gate to look at the many women, either driving (there were upwards of a score of wagons) or else trudging to town with great packs on their shoulders.

Soon, however, the clatter ceased, and melancholy reigned throughout the village.

Yes, melancholy! notwithstanding the bright sun on high, and that pond as of glass mingled with fire, and the trees all bathed in aromatic perfumes and brilliantly fresh green tints, and the quiet loveliness of spring now spreading over the world—the blue haze on the vast rolling plain, the larks that sang, the far-off villages tremulous under the blaze of day, and resounding with loud pistol-shots and merry-making!

Lipka, Lipka alone, was sad, abandoned, forsaken; and the hours there crept drearily and wearily by.

Noon was at hand, when Roch went over to Boryna’s, to see after the sick man, and have a talk with the children, and sit in the sun. He read for a while, often lifting his eyes to the road, and presently saw the smith’s wife come in with her little ones. She sat down outside the hut, after having looked in at her father’s.

“Is your goodman at home?” Roch asked her after a pause.

“Oh, no! Gone to town with the Voyt.”

“All Lipka is there to-day.”

“Aye, and the poor sufferers will have some morsels of the Hallow-fare to comfort them.”

Yagna was just going out.

“What!” he exclaimed. “Have ye not gone to town with your mother?”

“And what business have I there?” she returned, stepping out of the enclosure, and looking wistfully along the road.

Magda sighed. “She has a new skirt on to-day!”

“’Twas Mother’s!” Yuzka told her sullenly. “Did ye not see that? All those coral and amber beads on her bosom were Mother’s as well. The kerchief on her head is her own—nothing else!”

“True. So many a thing have his dead wives left him! He never would let us touch any; and now all are hers, to strut about in!”

“Yet she railed at them the other day—told Nastka the garments were mouldy and noisome!”

“Oh, may they smell of devil’s dirt to her!”

“Let Father but be healed!... I shall tell him instantly about the corals.... Five strings of them there were, every one as long as a whip, and each bead as big as the largest pea!”—And Magda, having said her say, heaved a deep sigh, and spoke no more.—Yuzka slipped away; Vitek, outside the stable, was busily constructing a toy something like a cock; while the children played in the porch with the dogs, under the eyes of old Bylitsa, who watched over them as a hen over her chickens.

“Is the field-work here finished?” Roch inquired of him.

“Aye, as far as pea-sowing and potato-planting go: no more.”

“Few folk here can say as much.”

“All will be well, we are told: the men are to be set free on Low Sunday.”

“Who, then, knew so much ... and said it?”

“’Twas a whisper that went about the congregation.—And Kozlova is to go and beseech the Squire!”

“The more fool she! Was it the Squire who cast them into prison?”

“His intercession might set them free.”

“Once he did speak, but naught came of it.”

“Had he but a little goodwill! But my goodman says he hates Lipka, and will do naught for us....” Here Magda broke off abruptly, and became more interested in her children, and Roch listened in vain for any more information from her.

“And when,” he asked with interest, “when is Kozlova going to him?”

“At once, as soon as noon is past.”

“Well, then, all she will get of it will be a walk and some fresh air.”

She did not reply. Just then, the Squire’s brother, Mr. Yacek, commonly held to be somewhat feeble-minded, came in from the road into the enclosure, with his long yellow beard and wandering eyes, bowed down, pipe in mouth and violin under his arm as usual. Roch went out to meet him. They surely must have been well acquainted; for they went and sat together on the stones by the shore of the mill-pond, and talked so long that it was well into the afternoon when they separated. But Roch came back to the porch, out of sorts and gloomy.

“That gentleman,” Bylitsa remarked, “has grown so thin, I scarcely knew him.”

“Did ye know him of old, then?” said Roch, dropping his voice as he glanced at the blacksmith’s wife.

“To be sure, I did.... He was a gay youngster once upon a time.... Aye, and a sad fellow with the wenches.... In Vola, they said, not one of them slipped through his fingers.—Ah, and I remember what splendid horses he used to ride—and what a rake he was.—Aye, aye, I remember well,” the old man said maunderingly.

“For that he is now doing a sore penance. A sore penance, I say.—Are ye not the oldest man in the village?”

“Nay, Ambrose must be older: I cannot remember him but as an old man.”

“He himself,” the smith’s wife put in, “says that Death has overlooked him.”

“No, Dame Crossbones never overlooks anyone; but she leaves him to the last, that he may repent. For he is greatly hardened.”

Bylitsa continued, after a long silence: “I remember the time when there were no more than fifteen peasants’ farms in Lipka.” He moved his hand hesitatingly towards Roch’s snuff-box, which the latter offered him at once, saying:

“And now there are a couple of score.”

“So the land must be divided again and again. Whether the harvest be rich or poor, the folk must always grow poorer. Ye cannot make the land to stretch. Yet a few more years, and there will be too little for us to live upon.”

“In truth, we are straitened enough as it is now,” the smith’s wife observed.

“Yes; and when our lads marry, there will be no more than one acre apiece for their children.”

“Therefore,” Roch said, “they will have to go abroad.”

“And what will they do there? Shall they clutch at the winds, and grasp them in their bare hands?”

“But,” he somewhat ruefully observed, “there are some German settlers who have purchased land of the Squire of Slupia, and are working it now: seventy acres to each settlement.”

“Of that I have heard. But the Germans are wealthy, and know much: they do business with the Jews, and profit by the sufferings of others. Were that same land to be taken up by empty-handed peasants like us, they would not sow it thrice! For us, there is scant room in Lipka. While that man—why, he has no end of broad acres that lie fallow close by!” And with a sweep of his arm he pointed to the Manor lands beyond the mill, shelving up towards the forest, and black with heaps of lupines.

“All that land,” he went on to say, “is close to our own, and might be parcelled out into thirty small holdings.—But the Squire would never sell it: such a rich man cares naught for money.”

“Rich? He?” the smith’s wife broke in. “He needs money as a mudfish needs mud. Why, he is driven to borrow from the very peasants. The Jews are dunning him now for what they advanced him upon the forest he cannot sell them. He is in arrears with the taxes, does not pay his own people—they have not yet received what is due them in kind for the New Year. He is in debt to everyone; and now that the government has forbidden him to cut down any timber till the peasants’ consent is obtained, how is he to get money to pay? He will not be master of Vola very long, not he!—They say he is seeking a purchaser.” Here she broke short as unexpectedly as she had begun, and all Roch’s efforts to draw her out a little more were useless; she put him off with a few commonplace remarks, and presently withdrew with her little ones.

“Her goodman,” old Bylitsa thought, “must have told her many things, but she fears to speak of them.... True, the lands close to Lipka are fertile, and the meadows give an aftermath. Even so....” And he went on pondering, with his eyes fixed upon the fields adjoining the forest, and on the Manor farm-buildings—Roch had meanwhile perceived Kozlova near the pond with other women, and gone over to her in haste.

Meanwhile Bylitsa thought: “We now have beaten the Squire. Now is the time for us peasants to make the most of our advantage.—Surely.—We might found another village: there would be lands enough, and hands enough willing to till it....” But the babies had got out into the road, and this put an end to his musings.

The bells had sounded for Evensong.

The sun was rolling down towards the forest; and over the roadway and mill-pond the shadows were growing longer. All was so quiet that, far away in the distance, a cart was heard to clatter, or a bird to cry out in the copses.

Some women had come back from town, and everyone was running to hear the news they had brought.

His Reverence had driven over to Volka, directly after Vespers: to a party at the Manor, Ambrose said. The organist had gone with all his people to visit the miller, and his son Yanek, in splendid attire, had accompanied his mother, saluting on his way the lasses behind their garden-palings, who peered out at him.

As the evening drew on slowly, the after-glow filled half the sky with sheets of blood-red fire, scattered about like brightly burning embers; and the waters turned crimson, and the window-panes gleamed ruddily, as more wagons came back from town, and in front of the cabins the noise grew louder.

Though Hanka was not yet home, there was plenty of life and din in front of her hut too. A number of little girls of Yuzka’s age had come to see her, and were all warbling and twittering around her like a bevy of finches, and laughing at Yasyek Topsy-turvy: while Yuzka was treating them to such dainties as the cabin afforded on that day.

Nastka, much older than any of the others, was their leader. She was making fun of Yasyek, because, blockhead though he was, he tried to give himself rollicking airs. He stood just then before them all, wearing a brand-new spencer and a hat cocked at a considerable angle, and saying with a smiling look and arms akimbo:

“All of you must respect me—me, the only man in the village!”

“Not so: others as good as you are tending the kine!” said one.

“Or wiping babies’ noses!” cried another.

Yasyek, in no wise taken aback, answered them loftily:

“Such chits as ye are—mere goose-girls as yet—are not to my taste!”

“Why, the fellow kept kine last year, and he would play the man now!”

“Yet he runs away from a bull so fast that his breeches come down!”

“Go, marry Magda, the servant of the Jew: she’s the girl for you.”

“Nurse to the Jew’s brats, she’ll wipe your nose likewise!”

“Or,” someone said still more sarcastically, “take old Agata to wife, and go on pilgrimages with her.”

“Oh,” he retorted, “if I would but send my proposers to any one of you, she’d fast on dry bread every Friday of her life to thank God for her luck!”

“But,” Nastka cried, “whom would your mother let you marry? You’re needed to wash the platters at home.”

“Provoke me not, you! else I go and marry Mary Balcerek!”

“Aye, do: go to her; she’ll receive you with a broomstick—or worse!”

“Go—but take heed not to lose aught on the way!” Nastka said, with a laugh and a slight pull at his breeches, that were indeed, like the rest of his clothing, much too large for him.

“They were his grandsire’s once!”

Jests and gibes fell round him, thick as hail: he laughed as heartily as anyone, and slipped his arm round Nastka’s waist. But a girl put her foot out: down he sprawled upon the floor, and could not get up, for they pushed him down again.

“Girls, let him be! How can you?” said Yuzka, coming to the rescue, and helping him up. Though a zany, he was a farmer’s son, and her kinsman through her mother.

They then played at blind man’s buff with him, who of course was blindfolded, and did not succeed, much as he tried, in catching any of the girls. These flew about him, nimble as swallows, and the noise and laughter and uproar grew louder and louder.

Twilight was falling, and the game was at its height, when the sudden cry of many fowls was heard in the yard. Yuzka, who ran there at once, found Vitek in the outhouse, holding something behind his back, and young Gulbas, whose flaxen head of hair was seen peeping over a plough.

“’Tis naught, Yuzka,” Vitek said in confusion, “’tis naught!”

“Ye have been killing a hen: I can see the feathers about!”

“Nay, nay! I only took a few from a cock’s tail, which I needed for my own bird.—But, Yuzka, it was no cock of ours! Oh, no! This boy Gulbas brought it here to me.”

“Show!” she commanded sternly.

He laid at her feet a bird quite plucked of all its feathers, and in a pitiable state.

“No doubt it is not one of ours,” she said, though she could not make sure.

“Now show your marvellous toy!”

Vitek then unveiled an artificial cock, that he had just finished: it was made of wood, plastered over with dough, into which the feathers had been stuck, and it looked as if alive, with a real head and beak mounted on a stick.

It had been fixed upon a board painted red, and very cleverly attached to a small cart; and when Vitek began to pull at the shaft, the bird would at once dance and flap its wings, Gulbas crowing the while till the hens cackled in reply.

Yuzka squatted down to admire this miracle of art.

“Lord! why, never in my life have I seen aught so wonderful!”

“’Tis good, hey, Yuzka?—I have hit it off well, hey?” he whispered, full of pride.

“And ye have made the thing all out of your own head?”

She was overwhelmed with amazement.

“Aye, all by myself, Yuzka! Yendrek here only brought me this live cock.—Aye, all by myself!”

“Dear, dear! how lifelike it moves! And yet ’tis but wood.—Show it to the girls, Vitek! How they all will marvel!—Show it to them, Vitek!”

“Ah, no. We shall go round to-morrow for the _Dyngus_,[4] and then they shall see it. I must still put up a railing all round to protect it.”

-----

Footnote 4:

_Dyngus_, called also _Smigus_; a popular festival, with a great deal
of horse-play, drenchings and even dousings, on Easter Monday;
believed to be a custom surviving from the time when the Poles (in the
tenth century) embraced Christianity and were baptized _en
masse_.—_Translator’s Note._

“Then come round to our big room and work at it, as soon as you have seen to the kine. There will be more light there.”

“So I will, but I have something else to do first in the village.”

She returned, but the company had finished the game and was now breaking up. For it was dark; lights gleamed in the huts and twinkled in the sky, and the evening chill was rising from the fields.

By now, everybody save Hanka was back from town.

Yuzka prepared a glorious supper: _barszcz_ with shredded sausage, and potatoes seasoned with much fried bacon. She set it on the table, where Roch was waiting already; the little ones were whimpering, and Yagna had been looking in more than once. At that moment Vitek glided in noiselessly, and sat down at once before the smoking dishes. His face was red as fire and he ate but little; his teeth were chattering, his hands trembling; and before supper was ended, he had slunk away.

Yuzka, wondering what was the matter, met him afterwards outside the sty, taking some draff out of the trough, and questioned him sharply.

For some time he tried to hold back the truth, and put her off with fibs; but all came out at last.

“Well, I have got my stork back again from his Reverence!”

“Gracious Lord! and no one saw you?”

“No one. His Reverence was away from home, the dogs were at their meal, and there stood my stork in the porch. Maciek had seen it, and came to let me know. I wrapped it close in Pete’s capote lest it should peck at me, carried it off, and hid it ... somewhere!—But do not, my Yuzka, my golden girl!—do not breathe one word of this. In a few weeks I will bring it round to our cabin, and you’ll see it strutting about in front of the porch; and none will know it for the same. Only betray me not!”

“Betray you? have I ever done that?... But I am amazed at your daring—Good heavens!”

“’Twas but my own property I have taken back again. I said I would never give it him: and behold, I have it once more. A likely thing indeed, that I should tame it all for the delight of others! Yea, surely!”—And he ran off, whistling.

Returning presently, he came in and sat down by the fireside with the little ones, intent on finishing his creation.

The cabin became a drowsy tedious place. Yagna had gone over to her side of the hut, and Roch was sitting outside with Bylitsa, who felt very sleepy.

“Get home,” Roch said to him; “there, Mr. Yacek is waiting to talk with you.”

“Mr. Yacek ... waiting?” he stammered, astounded and thoroughly waked up.—“To talk with me? Well, well!” And away he hurried.

Roch stayed where he was, murmuring prayers, and looking out into the impenetrable depths of the nocturnal sky, vibrant with twinkling stars, wherein the moon was rising—a sharp bright semicircle that cut deep into the darkness.

In the cabins, the lights had gone out one by one, like sleepy eyes that close fast: stillness reigned, disturbed only by the quiet rustling of leaves, mingling with the bubbling of the distant stream. At the miller’s alone did the windows all shine brilliantly, and the folk enjoyed themselves late into the night.

At Boryna’s all was still; everyone had gone to rest and the lights were out, except for the dying embers about the pots on the hearth, where the crickets chirped unseen; but Roch stayed up, waiting outside for Hanka. It was near midnight, when hoofs were heard beating upon the bridge by the mill, and the britzka came rolling in.

Hanka was extremely depressed and taciturn; and it was only when, supper over, Pete had gone to the stable, that Roch made bold to ask if she had seen her husband.

“All the afternoon. He is in good health and spirits, and asked me to send you a greeting.... I saw the other lads also.—They are to be set free, but none will tell when. Also I saw the lawyer who is to defend Antek....”

She was, however, keeping back something that lay like a stone at her heart, and went on talking of other and indifferent matters: till suddenly she broke down, bursting into tears, and covering her face, while the drops came pouring through her fingers.

“I shall come to-morrow morning,” he said. “Ye need rest. You have been much shaken, and it might do you harm.”

“Oh!” she burst out; “if I could but die and have done with this agony!”

He bent his head and withdrew, saying nothing.

Hanka went at once to lie down by her children; but, tired though she was, she could not sleep. Ah! Antek had treated her as though she had been some importunate dog. He had eaten the Hallow-fare with a good appetite, taken a few roubles without asking whence she had got them, and not so much as said he was sorry the journey had tired her!

She had told him all her doings at the farm: he had listened with not a word of praise, but more than one of sharp censure. Then he had asked about all the village—and forgotten his own little ones! She had come out to him with what a faithful loving heart, with what intense yearning for his caresses! Was she not his own wife, the mother of his children? And yet he had not fondled her, nor kissed her, nor even inquired after her health. He had behaved like a stranger, and looked on her as one. At last, when she could speak no longer for the pain that strangled her, and her tears flowed forth, he had shouted: “Have you come all this way to whine and blubber at me?”—O God! the anguish of that moment!... And that was her reward for all the hard work she had done for him, all that toil so far beyond her strength, all her bitterness of woe!—Nothing; not one word of endearment, of comfort even!

“O Christ! look down on me in Thy mercy, for I can bear no more!” she moaned, her face pressed hard down upon the pillow, not to wake the children, as she lay there, weeping, sorrowing, full of deep humiliation and the sense of cruel wrong.

Neither in his presence, nor before anyone else afterwards, had she been able to pour forth her soul: only now did she at last give vent to the despair of her heart, and to those tears, more bitter than any bitterness on earth.

* * * * *

The next morning—Easter Monday—the weather was still more beautiful, the country-side more abundantly bathed in dew, in azure mist-wreaths, in sunshine and in joy. The birds’ songs were more sonorous; the warm gales, rushing through the trees, made them murmur, as it were, a quiet prayer. The folk rose earlier, too, that day, opening doors and windows wide, and going outside to gaze upon God’s world—on the verdurous orchards; on the vast landscape, garlanded with spring greenery, sparkling all over with diamonds, bathed in the light of the sun; on the autumn-ploughed fields, with young tawny blades waving in the wind, and rippling up to the cabins like sheets of water teased by the zephyrs.

The boys ran about with squirts, drenching each other to the cry of _Smigus!_—or else, hiding behind the trees round the pond, they would deluge with water, not only the passers-by, but anyone who peeped out of doors; so that many a cabin-wall dripped with wet, and puddles glistened all around them.

Along all the ways and about the enclosures, the lads ran, chasing their victims with uproarious laughter, and dead set against the lasses, who enjoyed the pastime as much as they did, emptying pails on their heads and dodging them through the orchards; and as there were plenty of grown-up girls among them, these soon got the upper hand, driving the boys back with indomitable energy. Even Yasyek Topsy-turvy, who had attacked Nastka with a fire-hose, was himself tackled by the Balcerek girls, drenched from head to foot, and then flung into the pond to crown their victory.

But he, being nettled, and loath to brook such shame, that girls should get the better of a man, called to his aid Pete, Boryna’s servant: who with him laid an ambush cunningly for Nastka, got her fast in their clutches, dragged her to the well, and flooded her until she screamed aloud.... Then, taking Vitek to help them, and young Gulbas, with some bigger lads, they pounced upon Mary, daughter of Balcerek, whom they deluged so, that, stick in hand, her mother was obliged to run and rescue her! Yagna too they caught and drenched thoroughly, nor did they spare even Yuzka, though she begged them hard, and ran in tears to Hanka to complain.

“Complain she may!” they cried; “but yet she likes it: see, her eyes sparkle with glee!”

“Pestilent fellows! they have wetted me all over!” Yagustynka growled, though pleased, and entered the cabin.

“Whom will those rascals spare!” Yuzka grumbled, as she changed to dry clothes. Yet she could not for all that forbear coming out into the porch to witness the scene: all the roads alive with noise and tumult, and the whole place thrilling with the hubbub. The lads, frantic with delight, ran about in large bands, driving all who came nigh within range of the great hose, till at last the Soltys, seeing that no one could leave his hut for them, had to put an end to this merry-making, and disperse them.

“Are ye no worse for yesterday’s drive?” Yagustynka queried, as she dried herself by Hanka’s fire.

“I am. It moves within me with continual leaps; I feel nigh swooning!”

“Prithee, lie down, and drink a hot infusion of wild thyme.—Ye were too much shaken yesterday.”

She was greatly concerned; but, scenting the reek of fried blood-pudding, sat down to breakfast with the others.

“And you too, mistress, eat ye a morsel: hunger can do no good.”

“I have a loathing for meat now: I’ll make myself some tea.”

“That’s good to cleanse the bowels; but ye’ll be sooner well if ye take hot vodka, boiled with lard and spices.”

“No doubt: such medicine might even raise one from the dead,” Pete laughed. He had ensconced himself close to Yagna, following her eyes, offering her courteously anything she happened to look upon, and trying to enter into conversation. But she took little notice of him; and so he presently came to ask Yagustynka about the prisoners she had seen.

“I have seen them all,” she said. “They are not in cells apart, but in large rooms, as in a Manor, with plenty of light and good floors. Only, at all the windows there is a sort of cobweb of iron, lest they should take a fancy to walk out of doors. As for their food, it is none of the worst.... I tried the pease-porridge they get at noonday. It seemed to have been boiled in an old boot, and seasoned with axle-grease!... There was fried millet, too.—As to that, our dog Lapa would not have touched it, no, nor smelt at it either, but done something else, belike!... They have to live at their own expense; and if anyone lacks money, let him pray over his food to improve it,” she wound up in her usual sour fashion.

“Some, they say, are to come back next Sunday,” she added, lowering her voice with a glance at Hanka. At this, Yagna started up and left the room; and Yagustynka set to talking about Kozlova’s expedition.

“They came home late, having quite failed; but they beheld sausages on every side, and had a good look round at the Manor. They inform us, it smells otherwise than do our cabins!—But the Squire said he could in no wise help them; that was the affair of the Commissioner and the Government. Even were he able, for no man of Lipka would he do aught: he was the greatest sufferer of all, and because of them!—Look you, he has been forbidden to sell the forest, and the merchants are now bringing actions against him on that account.—He swore brimstone oaths, and cried out that, if he had to be a beggar because of the peasants, he hoped the plague might destroy them all!—All the morning, Kozlova has been carrying this news from hut to hut, and threatening revenge.”

“The more fool she. What harm can threats do?”

“My dear, we all know that the very weakest can find a place where to strike home!”—Here she broke off abruptly, and ran to support Hanka, who was leaning helpless against the wall.

“Good God!” she murmured in dismay; “is a miscarriage coming on?” And she put her to bed. Hanka had fainted, her face was covered with drops of perspiration, and flecked with yellowish spots; she lay scarce breathing, while the old woman dabbed her temples with vinegar. Then she put some horse-radish to her nostrils and Hanka opened her eyes and came to.

The others went to fulfil their several duties. Vitek alone remained, and when a convenient opportunity offered itself, begged his mistress to let him take his automaton into the village.

“Well, you may; but take heed to behave yourself, and not soil your garments. Tie up the dogs, lest they run after you everywhere.—When will you start?”

“After Vespers.”

Yagustynka then put her head in at the window, and said:

“Where are the dogs, Vitek? I was taking food to them, but neither of them comes to eat.”

“Aye, and I have not seen Lapa in the byre this morning. Hither, Burek! come hither!” he cried, running to and fro; but no bark answered his calls.

“They must,” he said, “have wandered out some distance.”

No one could think where the dogs had gone. After some time, however, Yuzka heard a faint whining sound, that seemed to be somewhere in the yard. Finding nothing there, she went into the orchard, fancying that Vitek was punishing some dog that had strayed on to the premises. To her surprise, no one was in sight; the place was now silent, the whining had ceased. But, going back, she stumbled over Burek’s body. It lay dead close to the cabin, its head beaten in!

Her cries at once brought the whole household to the place.

“Burek has been killed—by thieves, I doubt not!”

“Surely and indeed, ’tis so!” Yagustynka screamed, seeing a lot of earth dug out, and a large pit yawning beneath the foundations.

“They have dug through, even to Father’s store-room!”

“Why, a horse might have been dragged through so large a hole!”

“And the pit is sprinkled all about with grains of corn!”

“O Lord! peradventure the robbers are still in there!” Yuzka cried.

They rushed into Boryna’s dwelling. Yagna had gone out; the old man lay like a log; but in the store-room that was usually dark, there now was light from the hole which had been dug, and everything within was plainly visible, strewn about in the greatest disorder. The corn had been poured out over the floor pell-mell with articles of clothing torn down from the poles they had been stretched on; and among these, pieces of wool, unspun or spun into many a yarn and hank, lay twisted and torn and tangled.—But what had been stolen? No one could tell as yet.

Hanka nevertheless was sure this was the blacksmith’s doing, and reflected with a hot flush that, had she waited but one day more, he would have found and taken the money. She bent forward over the pit to hide from all present her feelings of satisfaction.

“Is naught missing in the byre?” she asked, feigning uneasiness.

By good luck, all was right there.

“The door,” Pete observed, “has been properly locked”; and, striding over to the potato-pit, he pulled out a big bundle of straw that closed the entrance, and dragged thence Lapa, alive and whining.

“The knaves thrust it in there, ’tis clear; but how could Lapa let them do it? So fierce a dog!”

“And how was it no bark was heard last night?”

They sent to inform the Soltys, and the news flew over all the village. People thronged into the orchard, the pit was as much besieged as a church confessional: everyone peeped in, looked Burek over, and gave his opinion.

Roch also came. He calmed Yuzka, who, voluble, excited, and tearful, was telling them what had occurred; then, going in to Hanka, who had lain down again, he said:

“I feared lest ye might take this too much to heart.”

“Wherefore? Glory be to God, he has stolen nothing.” She added, in a low voice: “For he came too late.”

“Have ye any guess who it is?”

“The blacksmith! I’d lay my life on’t!”

“Then—was he searching for aught in particular?”

“He was: but failed.—I name him only to you.”

“Certainly.—Unless he had been taken in the very act, or ye had witnesses—Well, well! Money makes a man dare awful things!”

“Good friend,” she entreated, “not even Antek is to know of this!”

“I am not one to talk at random, as you are aware. Moreover, ’tis easier to slay than to beget.—I knew the fellow for a knave, yet would never have suspected him of that.”

“Oh, he sticks at naught: well do I know him.”

The Voyt, arriving with the Soltys, then set to make a thorough search, questioning Yuzka carefully.

“Were Koziol not in jail,” he muttered, “I should think it to be his deed.”

“Hush, Peter,” the Soltys interrupted, nudging him; “there is his wife, just coming up.”

“They must have been frightened away; nothing has been taken.”

“We must notify the gendarmes, of course.... More work! Satan will not let a man rest, even in this holy time.”

The Soltys bent down and picked up a bloodstained rod of iron.

“It was with this Burek was done to death.”

The thing passed from hand to hand.

“It is one of those rods out of which they make tines.”

“Perhaps stolen out of Michael’s forge.”

“The forge has been closed ever since Good Friday!”

“They may have stolen it and brought it hither: I, the Voyt, tell you so. The blacksmith is not at home: what’s to be done? This is no one’s business but mine—and the Soltys’!” He raised his voice and shouted at them to go home and not waste time to no purpose.

Little as they cared for his blustering, it was now time for church; so the crowd melted away quickly, for parishioners from other villages were dropping in already, and the bridge was rumbling with carts.

When all had gone, Bylitsa went out to the orchard, to look at his dog, talk to it softly, and try to coax it back to life.

Hanka remained lying alone in bed, when everybody had gone to church, and the hut was empty. For a time she prayed and thought of Antek; then, the old man having taken the little ones out into the road, and all being very quiet, she fell fast asleep.

Time slipped away, and she was still sleeping when, near noon, the sound of the organ playing and the people singing in unison came wafted on the breeze, and the bells tolling for the Elevation made the windows vibrate. What woke her at length was the noisy clatter of the wagons driven home at full speed along the road, past holes and ruts; for on Easter Monday it is the custom to try who will be first home after High Mass. It was a confused torrent of horses, carts and people, of whips rising and falling all the way, twinkling athwart the orchard-trees. They raced so furiously that she felt the cabin tremble, as the wind bore the clatter and the din of laughter to her ears.

She had a mind to get up and take a look outside; but her people were home now, and Yagustynka set about getting dinner ready. She meanwhile related how the church had been so crammed that half the people had to stand outside; how all the Manor folk had been there; and how his Reverence had, after Mass, called all the farmers to the sacristy to confer with them. Yuzka prattled about the way the young Manor ladies were dressed.