Part 12

"I tell you there is none in all the neighbourhood like it. Do me the favor to taste it; you will see that only the nobility drink better. Old, fragrant, clear, strong, it is more than twelve years old; I bought it at Bebnow. It cost me dear; but I love what is good, I do,--that is my way."

As they spoke, they entered the room, to which one had to descend as into a cellar, for the wretched building had sunk considerably into the ground. The ceiling almost rested on the heads of the inhabitants; and the well-trodden dirt floor, which took the place of a plank one, had sunk so low that the windows of the inn were, on the outside, on a level with the ground.

The peculiar situation of this old building; the elevation of the small place in front, where the vehicles stopped; the entire absence of paving or any drainage,--all contributed to form before the door a deep black-looking pond which never dried up and which one had to cross by means of stones. The Jewish innkeeper's ducks and geese paddled here at will; and the travellers who frequented the place, as they stooped to pass under the low door, were obliged to cross very cautiously this offensive Black Sea lest they should get soaked above their calves. The Jew had never felt the necessity of remedying this inconvenience. In times of great drought it often happened that the pond thickened up and was transformed into a gluey and almost solid mud-hole; but the first rain that came would dilute it again, and it would extend half over the room. Iuk did not find this the least obstacle to the comfort of domestic life.

In the inner room there were the Jew's wife (a fat, dirty matron with her breast uncovered), his six children of different sizes, a servant, a few goats, some pet chickens and geese, and only one traveller,--a stranger, who wore a coarse woollen cap, and was asleep, sitting on a bench with his head resting on the table. Chwedko, as he entered, slipped upon one of the stones in the mud-hole, splashed the black water all over himself, and swore a terrible oath which wakened the stranger.

The latter wore a costume closely resembling that of the towns-people,--a cloak with lappets turned back and faced, a green belt, a large hat; and he had an iron-shod stick which he laid down beside him, with his small bundle tied up in a handkerchief. He was still young, apparently scarcely thirty years old, and had a tall, robust figure, and a round red face. He seemed to know nothing of poverty, for gay life and good cheer had left their traces on his brow and eyes; and it was easy to see that he was tipsy, thanks to the good old brandy of Bebnow, for he had scarcely raised his head when he pulled up his mustache and began to sing a tavern song. At this moment Chwedko was plunging and splashing in the mud-hole, which caused the stranger to burst into a loud laugh and shout,--

"Help! help! The gentlemen from Popielnia are drowning!"

Iuk and his people at this also laughed; and the merry fellow, putting his hands on his hips, began to stare impertinently at the two new-comers.

"And how do you know that we are from Popielnia?" asked Iermola.

"Bah! it is not hard to tell that. All the people of Popielnia wear a mark."

"What do you mean? A mark? Do they mark us like sheep with a red cross on our backs?"

"Is it possible that you do not know," answered the stranger, "that the tailors in your village make hoods for you different from any which are made anywhere else in the world?"

From time immemorial, in fact, the hooded _sukmanes_ of the inhabitants of Popielnia had been cut and made in a peculiar fashion, which fact Chwedko and Iermola had for the moment forgotten. They also, desiring to preserve the old custom, would never have bought or worn any hood which was not of the exact shape worn by their ancestors.

"And you,--where do you come from?" asked Chwedko of the young man.

"From a country which is beyond the seventh sea of the seventh river, and the seventh mountain," answered the merry joker.

"Ah, ah! Even in that distant country it seems, then, that they know about the people of Popielnia; that is very complimentary to us. But without joking, my brother, tell us from what land the Lord God has led you."

"From Mrozowica, neighbour."

Mrozowica was a large colony of freemen of the lower class, who paid taxes to the Government instead of doing service; it was just there that the potters lived to whom Iermola wished to apply, and the old man felt his heart beat as he heard the name pronounced.

"From Mrozowica?" he repeated eagerly. "And where are you going, if I may ask?"

"I am going over the world as far as my legs will carry me."

"All over the world? Oh, that is very far!"

"Well, yes; but I am tired of staying forever in the same place, sitting on the ground with my legs crossed. I have started out to look for poverty along the road."

"Why seek for it?" said Chwedko. "It comes soon enough of its own accord."

"Let it come. I do not fear it; we will quarrel together," answered the merry stranger.

"Do you happen to be a tailor?" asked Iermola, timidly. "You noticed the shape of our hoods so quickly."

"Why not? Why shouldn't I be a tailor?" answered the fellow, putting his hands on his hips. "Rather ask me what I have not been. I have been a farmer; I have been a blacksmith; I have been a carpenter; I have been a tailor; I have been a dyer, a musician, and a shoemaker. Ta, ta! All those are miserable trades, starving occupations. Now I am no longer so silly; I am going to be a lord."

"That is your idea, is it? Upon my word, you have not made a bad choice," said Chwedko, bursting into a laugh. "Not a bad thought, my brother. I salute you, my lord." And taking off his hat, he bowed down to the ground.

"But it seems to me," said Iermola, "that since you have so soon grown weary of all your different occupations, perhaps you will quickly tire of being a lord."

"Oh, well, then I will turn beggar; it is a fine trade, and I had as soon be one thing as another," answered the fellow as he sang,--

"'My stick, it is my friend; My wallet is my wife.'"

"Upon my word, this is a merry, pleasant fellow; and we have met him just at the right moment," muttered Iermola. "While the gray is eating her hay, and Chwedko is finishing his onion and his glass of brandy, I can easily learn something about the potters in Mrozowica.--See here, brother," said he, drawing nearer the stranger, "won't you take a glass of brandy?"

"If you will pay for it, why shouldn't I? A Bohemian will hang himself for the sake of company."

"Iuk, give us a good drink of your best Bebnow brandy."

"Give it to us, Iuk, you pagan dog, do you hear?" said the young fellow from Mrozowica.

"You see," said Iermola, drawing nearer, "I am just going to Mrozowica to--"

"Well, take care to take two sticks with you, and sew up your pockets; for they are all thieves and rascals there."

"Ah, you must be joking."

"It is true; ask any one who has ever been there. There is not one honest man there."

"But how about the potters?"

"Bah! they are the worst of all."

"Dear me! I am greatly disappointed."

"Why?"

"Ah! there are a great many reasons which you would not care to hear."

"I really would not advise you to go there," continued the young man. "If you want a cracked pot, you will be sure to find it there."

"But you see that is not what I want."

"What is it you do want, then?"

"I want-I want--" said Iermola, scratching his head.

At this moment Chwedko, who had fortified himself with a good drink of brandy, and who had resolved to serve as interpreter, interrupted the conversation without ceremony.

A sober man always finds it extremely difficult to talk with a man who has been drinking; but nothing is easier than for a tipsy man to come to an understanding with another who is also half intoxicated.

"He wants--you see," murmured Chwedko, in the young fellow's ear--"this Iermola here--is a sort of potter. But he knows nothing--not at all--about glazed pottery; and he would like to learn how to glaze, you see."

"Ta, ta! And why does he go to Mrozowica to learn that?"

"Bless me! where should he go?"

"Why, I can teach him myself. How much will he pay me to do it?"

Iermola and Chwedko, filled with astonishment, stared at each other in silence.

"You are joking, aren't you? Are you a potter yourself?"

"I am the son of a potter, and I worked six years in glazed pottery. But it is a foolish trade; I am tired of it," answered the man from Mrozowica. "Daub yourself with the glazing, black yourself up with the mixtures, roast yourself in the fire,--that is all the pleasure to be found in it. I spit upon it and left; but that does not prevent my having worked a long time with Father Martin, or hinder me from knowing all about glazing, no matter what colour you wish to use. And my pottery was always bright and polished like glass."

"Really?"

"Bless my heart! if you wish it, I will prove it to you."

"How much will you charge me?" said Iermola, with a bright smile.

"How much will you give me?"

Iuk, comprehending that some sort of bargaining was going on in his presence without his being able to know just what it was about, hastened to join the group, planting his snout between the two faces, and fearing lest an opportunity to sell something should slip from under his nose.

"What are you bargaining over there?" he muttered.

"A cat in a sack," answered the fellow from Mrozowica.

"Come, come! why do you joke so?" replied the innkeeper. "What is there for sale? I will buy it."

"They are haggling over the price of glazing pitchers," answered Chwedko.

The Jew, not being able to comprehend, shrugged his shoulders and withdrew a few steps, keeping a watch from his seat by the stove over the traders, who would be obliged to come to him for the drink which would clinch the bargain.

After having haggled sufficiently, they ended the matter by the payment of five roubles. They shook hands, drank a bumper of Bebnow brandy, and Iermola, accompanied by the man from Mrozowica, prepared to return to the village.

"In this case, I shall not go on to the city to-day," muttered Chwedko, somewhat confused; "the rain would certainly catch me on the road."

Iermola and Siepak (that was the name of the newcomer) seated themselves beside Chwedko on the wagon-box, and they returned together to Popielnia, to the great despair of Iuk, who was not able to succeed in getting at the matter, and who vaguely scented under it all a sum of money which was beyond his reach.

Thus it was that the art of glazing pottery was introduced into Popielnia; and Iermola thanked God for it as though a miracle had been wrought.

XIV.

IMPROVEMENT AND DECEPTION.

It was about noon--for they had not hastened on the way and had stopped a long time at the inn--when our travellers, having persuaded the gray to beat a retreat, disappeared from the village and stopped with Siepak before the entrance of the old inn.

In front of the door sat Radionek, rapidly turning an enormous porringer, and Huluk, as he helped him, was talking with him in gay tones.

As soon as he saw his father, Radionek, both surprised and alarmed, sprang forward to assist him to descend.

"So here you are, father. Did anything happen on the way, that you have come back so soon?"

"Nothing, nothing at all, my child; only I met this honest fellow, who has worked a long time with the potters in Mrozowica, and he has offered to teach me to glaze pottery."

Radionek, overcome with joy, jumped up and cried, "Is it really true? Can it be possible?"

"Why, yes, I know how to glaze as truly as I stand here," cried the merry Siepak; "and I shall be very glad indeed to play a good trick upon my neighbours in Mrozowica, for I never shall forget the rascality of those lazy fellows.

"'I'm not your brother; you're not my father.'"

Thus sang Siepak, with his hands on his hips, standing on top of the wagon. Then jumping lightly to the ground, he began to examine with the air of a connoisseur all the implements used in the manufacture of the pottery; but it was easy to recognize in him one of those boastful loungers, those village blusterers, who regard everything from the height of their own grandeur, and make little of everything done by others. The working implements which composed the stock of the poor potter seemed very poor to him; as he looked over them, he shrugged his shoulders so scornfully and seemed so amused that Iermola and Radionek felt sad and confused.

Siepak manifested equal scorn in regard to their wares; he treated them unceremoniously as so much trash and rubbish, threw them about, cracked some of them, and stretching himself on the bench, began to boast loudly of what he knew and what he could do, over and above what others knew and what others could do.

This conduct was not pleasing to Iermola, who understood men; but he endured Siepak's ridiculous bragging in silence, hoping at least to be able to gain something from his teachings, though seeing him behave in such a manner caused him to lose confidence in him.

Meanwhile the man from Mrozowica ordered them to fry him a bit of bacon and give him a pint of brandy; then he lay down in the sun for a nap, and toward evening he repaired to the inn.

The next day Iermola was to go to the town to buy some litharge, colours, and other ingredients necessary for glazing the pottery; while Radionek, under the direction of Siepak, who was always joking and singing, should get ready the vessels which were to hold the mixtures to be used in glazing.

When finally the preparation of the glazings began, Siepak showed himself skilful and adept beyond all expectation, so much so that his companions were more astonished than they had at first been at his swaggering; but he had scarcely worked half an hour in the cabin, when he could contain himself no longer, and ran off to the inn, where he flattered the musicians, collected half the villagers, and ordering a pailful of brandy to be placed in the midst of the assembly, he led the carousal and dance until about midnight.

That night late, two of Siepak's comrades, as drunk as he, brought him back, staggering, screaming, and singing, and laid him down on the ground before Iermola's door; Huluk and Radionek regarded him with astonishment mingled with deep pity.

Some time passed before any positive proof of the work could be attained; but during that time Iermola's adopted son, gifted with a mind as quick as it was retentive, had profited so well by the lessons of the cunning young journeyman, and having seen some of the manipulation, had so well divined the rest, that the work of preparing the pottery was no longer unknown to him. He was equal to the emergency; it was sufficient to give him a few suggestions, to put him in the way, to explain some of the processes, and the child's ingenious mind and practical sense supplied what his instructor wanted. Iermola was extremely anxious to get rid of the Mrozowica man's presence as soon as possible, for he feared the effect of it upon Radionek; but in fact, it seemed that the light-headed Siepak was chosen expressly for the purpose of disgusting the child with a life of the frightful emptiness and wretched pleasures of which he had a daily proof. Siepak, it must be said, was an example of a curious moral type,--a type frequently met with among the lower classes, in all its strange ingenuousness; intelligent, adroit, active, and variously gifted, he got but little good out of either pleasure or labour, soon wearying of the one, and never being satisfied with the other.

Sometimes, exhausted by his dissipations, he would lie all day long upon his back in the hay, half tipsy, singing with all his might, or else uttering heart-rending sighs as though he were about to die. Then he would go to work with earnestness for an hour, and his hand, which at first would tremble and refuse to serve him, would in a few moments acquire astonishing skill and dexterity; but he would scarcely begin to do well, when he would get tired and give it all up, call in the first passer-by, talk and joke with him, and most frequently end by going off to the inn, where behind the table he spent most of his time.

After some attempts which were not altogether unsuccessful, Radionek, under his direction, had begun to use the glazing on his pottery without much difficulty, when Siepak, who was already tired of his sojourn in Popielnia, of Szmula, of the old inn and the quiet which reigned in the village, finding no companions whose tastes suited his own, demanded of the old potter the remainder of the sum which would be due him, and furnished with this, set himself up at Szmula's house, where for three days he kept up a ceaseless orgy accompanied by silly music.

The fourth day, taking his valise on his shoulder and his travelling stick in his hand, Siepak started off and disappeared, without bidding any one good-by,--to the great regret of the Jew innkeeper and a few dissipated companions who had every evening passed some pleasant hours at his expense. From that moment he was never again seen in Popielnia.

Then the old peacefulness, which had been for a while disturbed, returned to the modest dwelling. Radionek went to work earnestly, and at first wanted to glaze all the pottery; but the old man restrained him by wise observations.

"Remember," said he, "that the manufacturing of them is not all; we must sell them in order to succeed. We cannot tell how our new wares will be received in the market. If no one wishes to buy our glazed pitchers and dishes; if we get badly paid for them,--we should have done better with our common pottery, which sells perfectly well. God only knows whether we shall succeed in selling our finest plates and dishes; and if we make no more dark dishes and coarse pots, the people will get in the habit of going somewhere else to get them."

Iermola succeeded in persuading the child, who resigned himself to glazing only half the burning. Up to that time their trade had been very good. The old man feared lest this change of affairs should injure it, but Radionek wanted to do something new, and did not count the cost; his father's fears seemed to him silly and groundless. With the lower classes, nothing is accepted and adopted at once. It is necessary to proceed slowly and carefully in order to introduce any new custom; for, obedient to their conservative instinct, our peasants hold with a firm grasp to the habits and even the prejudices bequeathed them by their ancestors.

This is what happened after the burning, which was half of common pottery and half glazed ware, was fired. The day of the great _pardon_ arrived, and also the week of the town fair. The stock of pots and plates and dishes was all completed. Chwedko's mare was hired for the day; the wagon was carefully packed; and the old man and the child, leaving Popielnia at midnight, reached the little town about daybreak. They were accustomed to display their wares always on the same spot, under the pent-house of the largest Jewish inn on the square, where all the people attending the fair, accustomed to see them there, could come and find them with their eyes shut. From morning till night the crowd used to gather round them; and generally the sale was enormous. Our potters made haste to unpack their wares as soon as they reached their favourite corner, and separated the common pottery from the glazed. Radionek, as he waited for customers, palpitated with hope; Iermola trembled with fear. When day broke, the crowd began to assemble, and at once pressed around the goods exposed for sale.

But it was in vain that the two merchants offered to purchasers their most successful dishes, their best glazed and newest-shaped pitchers, at very moderate prices. Most of the housekeepers gravely shook their heads without saying anything; others frankly declared that they preferred to supply themselves from the potters in Mrozowica.

In fact, custom prevailed, and neither the beauty of the wares nor the cheapness of the prices could induce any one to buy; in vain Iermola and Radionek sounded their praises and boasted of their good quality. The customers listened with a mocking and incredulous air, and went off to supply themselves from the merchants long known. Radionek wept in silence; and the old man tried to console him by representing to him that it must be so at first, and that they must resign themselves to be patient and learn to wait.

Toward evening they sold part of the glazed ware to some strangers; and there was no common pottery left in Iermola's collection.

But as for the other vessels, many were left on hand; and a Jew in the little town bought them all at half price because the old man did not want to take them home.

When Iermola and Radionek had counted up their expenses, they found that they had lost. The child was very sad as they went along; but the old man comforted him as well as he could, thus endeavouring to prepare him for the future great disappointments of life, which, though bitter, should not destroy either a man's hope or his courage.

XV.

THE OTHER FATHER.

We have carefully described the life of these simple poor people, and the most important events which had happened to them,--the changes in their employments, the acquisition of new acquaintances, the least increase of their comfort. Their days passed in perfect uniformity and an equally profound peacefulness; Radionek at least conceived of no existence happier than this which had fallen to his lot. His father loved him and as far as he possibly could gratified his wishes; he succeeded in his undertakings; he had something to occupy him, something to amuse him; and the distant and unknown future seemed smiling and peaceful.

Sometimes, it is true, the child sat dreamily on the door-sill of the cabin with his eyes fixed on the waters of the river Horyn, on the woods and fields, paying by a moment of inexpressible sadness his debt to the vague and infinite desires and aspirations which arise in the heart of man through the whole course of his life. Then would recur to his mind the remembrance of things his father had told him,--the strange manner of his being found under the oak-tree, his mysterious origin, and the singular and incomprehensible fate which had cast him into the old man's arms. Radionek could not comprehend why he had been forgotten and abandoned; something told him that he would be remembered some day. Sometimes it seemed to him in the silence that he heard the sound of wheels and horses coming to announce the arrival of guests whom he was expecting,--strange, terrible, unknown guests.

In his imagination he often pictured to himself under various forms those parents whom he had never known; but whenever he thought of the grief that his departure would be to Iermola, the bitterness of the separation from him, his constant solitude, he burst into tears and resolved never to leave him. In him as in all other young and ardent beings awoke the desire to see new things, to do something different from the old life; but he felt in the bottom of his heart that whatever he might gain by a change of position, he would surely lose some portion of his real happiness. Where could he be better off? Where happier or freer? He worked only as much as he wished to do, varying his occupations; and the old man rarely had anything to say. It is true that Iermola had reared the boy from the first in such a manner as to be able to control him by encouragement and reason; and he had no need of threats. The old man had made himself a child so as to understand Radionek; the child had endeavoured to attain the maturity of the old man. They shared time and years as they shared all the other things of life.