Iermola Part 24

Her colour was bright, her eyes black; her coral lips spoke of happiness, light-heartedness, and strength; and her white teeth, which showed plainly when she smiled, gleamed like mother-of-pearl beside her slightly brown cheeks. She was really good, energetic, charitable, and compa.s.sionate, though a little coquettish; a faithful wife and tender mother, though she was very fond of laughing and joking. Her husband, the son of Kolenick, the richest labouring-man in the village,--a short man, pale, slim, sickly, and languid,--respected her as he did his patron saint and feared her as he did the fire; yet he loved her dearly, and would have been ready to die for her always.

"You do not recognize me, Nascia Kolesnikowa," said the old man, in a low voice, as he approached her. "I am Iermola, whom you know very well; you remember the man who learned to make pottery under Procope, your father."

"What? Is this you carrying a beggar's sack? What can have happened to you? You had a trade and something laid by. But then old age--"

"Oh, there is a long story to tell you. You remember, of course, that I brought up your master's son?"

"I know all about it; people did nothing but talk about it."

"Well, they have taken him away from me."

"Bless me! what would you have them do? He was their child, not yours."

"But my good Nascia, wasn't he a little mine too? And now they will not even allow me to see him, as if I went there, G.o.d help me! to cast a spell over my poor dear boy. So I am tired of living. No one will receive me here; at Popielnia I am all alone,--no one is left to me; even my neighbour, the cossack's widow, has lately died. Now I have left, and I go wandering about the world."

"Poor old man, are you then so grieved at having lost your child?"

"Oh, Nascia, he was my all, my joy, my life; and they had no pity on me, they took him away from me. Then he began to droop and dwindle away; G.o.d only knows what will become of him. They will not let me go near him. Tell me, have those people the fear of G.o.d in their hearts?

The lord drove me away himself, and forbade my putting foot on his estate."

"Is it possible?"

"I swear it to you by the wounds of Christ; he drove me away without pity."

"He has the blood of the old chief of squadron. He will be like his beloved father," said Nascia, in a low voice, looking behind her to be sure that no one heard her. "How could they be so unjust thus to drive away their friend, their benefactor!"

"Therefore as I have said to you, there was nothing left for me but to drag myself about from place to place. But when I began my wanderings, I was again seized with such an intense desire to see my child that I could not stand it, and I came back to get one more look at him."

"And have you seen him?"

"No, I have just gotten here; I do not know even where to find shelter."

"Come, come into our house!"

"G.o.d bless you, Nascia, and reward you by blessing your children! But I cannot accept your offer; some one would see me at your house and go and tell them. I do not want them to know at the _dwor_ that I am here; I will go away after I have seen the child, even if I only see him at a distance. But tell me, is Procope's cabin vacant?"

"Certainly it is; we have not repaired it, because after the servant went away, we could not find a tenant. When it falls down entirely, the garden will be much larger."

"But until it tumbles down?"

"Oh, well, it will remain as it is."

"If you will allow me to stay there only one week, I will pay you rent for it."

Nascia burst into a laugh.

"Why should you pay," said she, "for the pleasure of lodging in a hole, in a ruin? Why, you will on the contrary do my Sydor a service, for he has an idea of repairing the cabin. If he could have found some one to stay there and keep it up, it would have lasted much longer. If you think of staying in it, I will send you the window which we had taken out of the frame and laid aside for fear some one should steal it. Will that suit you?"

"Do you really mean it? You are not joking?" said Iermola, in a tone of glad surprise.

"Quite the contrary. I have not the slightest desire to joke."

"Then may G.o.d protect and bless you!" cried the old man, clasping his hands. "You will see that I shall take good care of the old house; I will clean it up and repair it, and in return I will wait upon you whenever you wish me to do so. Oh, I shall be much happier here! I shall at least be near my child; I shall hear from him."

"Come, then, it is all settled. Sydor will be pleased too; there is nothing more to be said. As for me, I shall be pleased if you will only look after the garden a little."

"I will not only look after it, I will take care of it myself; you will see, I will put a beautiful, strong enclosure round it, provided I can find enough small boughs near by."

"That will be nice, very nice," said Nascia, with a joyous smile; "now come, take supper with us. You can have a talk with my husband and bring back the window, and as I will give you a little dry wood to light a fire in the old fireplace and drive away the dampness, you can sleep to-night in your cabin."

As she spoke, Nascia began to gather up her bundles of hemp, then called a servant, and singing a village song in a loud clear voice, she walked slowly along toward her cabin, not taking the narrow path over the foot-bridge which led from one garden to the other, but the public road, because she was so loaded down with her hemp. Sydor Kolenick's cabin was situated just on the edge of the public road, at the entrance of the second lane, so that the farther ends of the two gardens touched; it was s.p.a.cious, solid, and quite new.

At a glance one could see that the household was comfortable and flouris.h.i.+ng. The princ.i.p.al room was large and handsome; great gilded images were hung in one corner; the table, large and clean, was covered with a perfectly white cloth, and there was on it a large golden loaf, well baked, and covered with a fine napkin. The pewter and earthen pitchers, pails, and tubs were whole, s.h.i.+ning, and new as if they had just come from the market; everything, indeed, was clean, dainty, substantial, cheerful, and comfortable.

The master of the house alone was unlike his wife and his surroundings; small, thin, withered, stunted, wretched-looking, with a red eye, a cloth tied round his jaws, and a beard unshaven for three weeks, he looked forty years old, though he had not yet reached thirty.

"Here is old Iermola from Popielnia," said Nascia to her husband, who, seated near the fire, was smoking his pipe to cure his toothache; "he offers to rent Procope's hut, and in addition to work the garden, if you will kindly agree to take him as a tenant."

"Iermola, ah, yes! I remember him. How do you do, old father, and what are you doing here?" said Sydor, his mouth full of saliva and speaking with difficulty.

Nascia did not allow the old man time to reply, for to all her other good qualities she added the gift of extraordinarily earnest and fluent eloquence. She began at once to relate Iermola's history; and as Sydor had a compa.s.sionate heart and was easily influenced by his wife's impressions, he was immediately filled with pity for the old man's forlorn situation, and sitting down beside him on the bench, began to chat with him.

"And what ails you?" said Iermola, suddenly, remembering that he had formerly dispensed remedies in the village. "Perhaps I could cure you."

"I do not know whether it is my teeth or my jawbone which gives me so much pain. At first one of my decayed teeth began to hurt me; and now my whole head and face burns and seems ready to burst, I suffer so."

"Have you never tried the remedy, rather disagreeable, but sometimes very good, of smoking a pipe of moss from the oak-trees instead of tobacco?"

"No, really."

"The only thing is to be careful about choosing the moss," said Iermola. "Are there any oak-trees near you?"

"Yes, indeed; the courtyard is full of them."

Iermola went out immediately to look for some; he had no trouble in finding a good handful, dried it, picked out the straws and fragments of bark, then filled a pipe with it, and presented it to the suffering Sydor. The pipe was scarcely lighted before a strong disagreeable odour filled the room and made Nascia sneeze violently; but either from this effect of the remedy or because the pain was coming to an end, Sydor soon ceased to suffer and moan, and the couple could not thank the old man sufficiently. Then the patient's face began to swell, but this was the natural consequence of the disease.

"Let it swell," said Sydor, "provided I have no more pain. A while ago I was ready to burst my head open against the wall."

Thus, thanks to a handful of moss, Iermola had been able to make a friend. Nascia gave him the window which had been taken out, some kindling-wood to light the fire in his stove, and bits of pine to burn instead of a torch. Then she made him eat his supper; and remembering that he would need something the next day, she filled a pot for him, after which Iermola went away, happy and well pleased, to occupy his new dwelling.

There is nothing so sad as an empty, solitary house after the dead owner has pa.s.sed away; one seems to feel the presence of the corpse everywhere. Procope's cottage had been deserted for several months.

Dampness and mildew had begun to invade it; small mushrooms had sprung up in the corners; a few grains of gra.s.s-seed and wheat, thrown by the wind into the cracks and crevices, sent up their frail stalks, yellow and pale for want of air and light; the moisture stood in drops upon the walls; the ground-floor was covered with gray mosses; and numberless insects had made their nests among the rubbish.

But it all seemed endurable and comfortable to Iermola; and he was ready to remedy everything, to find compensations and resources for himself, happy and comforted as he was by the fact of being near his child and the hope of seeing him again.

He put in the window, lighted the fire, swept and cleared the floor, opened the door, repaired and set up as well as he could two old benches, then having spread his bags on the floor, he laid down upon them, impatient to rest after the long tramp he had taken over an uneven, woody, and sandy road.

He spent the whole of the next day in repairing and cleaning up his room; he helped Nascia to work her garden; and in the evening he went in the direction of the _dwor_, the situation and extent of which he knew perfectly well. He had waited till the twilight came on, so that no one would recognize him, and he avoided going on the side next the great courtyard, where so often he had been so inhospitably received; but he took a foot-path winding round the orchard, and also took the further precaution to wear his beggar's costume and sack. From this narrow path, which separated the garden from the farm buildings, he could plainly see the broad garden walk, the _dwor_, and the lawn where Radionek walked oftenest. He was allowed to play here alone, because the orchard, not very large, was surrounded by a strong, high hedge, and consequently the child could not go out. But at this moment the garden was empty; and Iermola, looking anxiously through the openings in the hedges, could see no one but the gardener. There was a light, however, in Radionek's room; the old man gazed at the light, sighed, and went away.