Iermola Part 11

"Truly, it seems to me that since I have succeeded in learning to read I could also learn a trade."

"Well, well, perhaps you can, but at least choose something easy,"

answered Druzyna, shaking his head.

"Some one advised me to learn weaving; but I should not have enough money to buy a loom, and I should not know where to find a place to put it. My own room is so small."

"Well, what are you thinking of doing?"

"Why, to tell you the truth, I came here to beg Procope--"

"Ah, ah! to make pots!" cried the chief of squadron. "Well, but if yours are no better than his, you will not make a fortune."

"Perhaps if he will only show me how to begin, in the end I may do better than he; but Procope is jealous of his knowledge and proud of his trade; he would not be willing to teach me."

"There is a way to remedy that difficulty," said the chief of squadron.

"I will send for him and speak a few words to him. There are no secrets which he will refuse to share with you after he has received my orders."

Iermola shook his head sadly. "What one is forced to do, one never does well," he said.

"Well, see if he will do it of his own accord; and if you are not successful, I will come to your a.s.sistance."

Then after a few moments, the old man sent Iermola off much more tranquil and comfortable, and ordered him to present himself again in the evening and inform him of the result of his interview with Procope.

X.

WHAT A STRONG WILL CAN ACCOMPLISH.

On his way to the potter's house, which was situated on a little hill where one could see the bright kiln surrounded by freshly moulded pottery and shaded by an old pear-tree, Iermola gave himself up to thought. It seemed to him that at last he had hit upon a wise and happy idea. His wrinkled old face began to light up; he rubbed his hands and walked on toward Procope's cabin with a firmer and lighter step.

The potter of Malyczki, after having married off his daughter, had established himself, with a very young servant and a little apprentice, in this cottage then vacant, where he for the greater part of his time led the idle life of a village epicurean.

Generally he did but little work, for he relied upon the half-rusty roubles which he had earned in his youth; he was seldom seen seated at his wheel or busy with his kiln, but could be found frequently at the inn, or seated at his own table before a well-supplied plate and a br.i.m.m.i.n.g goblet which his servant had just brought to him.

Iermola therefore found the man he was seeking, at table, in front of a pint of brandy and a great bowl of fresh milk thick with cream.

Procope's hair was quite gray, but he was still erect and vigorous. He was a peasant of tall and ma.s.sive figure, with broad shoulders, strong as an oak, and had a white beard which reached to his girdle. One glance at him was sufficient to tell that he had strength to struggle with a bear. When he was tipsy at the inn, every one was afraid of him; for he would shake the village boys with his long arms as though he were shaking a pear-tree to make the pears fall off. He could put his broad shoulders to the axle and move a loaded wagon; and with one hand he could lift a bag of wheat as easily as any one else would a handful of straw.

The potter wore a pair of well-tarred leather boots, large white pantaloons, cut after the cossack fashion, and a shirt of gray cloth, fastened at the neck by a large red b.u.t.ton, and lower down by a broad belt of the same colour, and was stirring his spoon in his porringer while watching the servant, who was seated in front of him, showing her white teeth and covering her face with her hands as she laughed. At this moment Iermola appeared in the doorway, and saluted the inhabitants of the potter's house in the following pious fashion,--

"Slawa Bohn! Glory to G.o.d!"

The two old men had long known each other; and besides, Procope was generally pleasant and hospitable to every one so long as he was not intoxicated; when he was, he was terrible. But just then he was perfectly sober, and he immediately rose from his table. The servant disappeared, and the two men embraced each other cordially.

"Well, what is it that the Lord G.o.d sends you to say to us?" was the potter's first remark. "You will drink one good gla.s.s, won't you?"

"I will take one gla.s.s," said Iermola, "though it is not my custom to drink at all."

"Ah, ah! a good drink of brandy never did anybody any harm. After that, we will talk over your business, if you have any."

"Ah, yes! I have something very important to talk about," replied the new-comer; "but it is a long story."

"Then begin at once."

"Wait a while, till I recover my breath."

"As long as you like."

As he spoke, the servant reappeared; she removed the bowl and spoon, leaving the brandy on the table. The two old men began by complaining of the weather and the high prices of provisions. Procope lamented considerably over the inconveniences of his trade; and gradually they conversed with frank cordiality.

"You must know," said Iermola, suddenly, not without much internal agitation, "that I am myself the son of a potter. From time immemorial my ancestors owned kilns and made pottery."

"Ah, indeed! really?" answered Procope, with visible astonishment.

"Yes, truly, as I have told you; but my father and mother died when I was quite an infant, and I can barely remember the fact that they worked in pottery. But to-day there is still in our old garden a fine potter's kiln, which is overgrown with gra.s.s. As for my paternal property, it has pa.s.sed into other hands."

"But never in the world was there a potter found among the people of Popielnia."

"My father was from Wolhynia, and he lived only a very short time after coming here."

"Ah! that is a different matter," replied the potter, slowly sipping his brandy.

"And, you see, in my old age, I have taken it into my head to take up my old trade again," stammered Iermola, blushing and looking down.

Procope stared at him, then began rubbing his head and speaking in broken sentences.

"You want to take the bread out of my mouth, you wicked old man," he muttered in a menacing tone.

"Only listen to me," continued Iermola, much agitated; "instead of injuring your trade, perhaps it may be that I can help you to gain something. Do not be frightened without reason."

"All right, let me hear; tell me."

"You have no son; your daughter is married; and you have laid by a nice little pile of money. It seems to me that it is high time for you to take some rest. The clay you find about here is good for nothing. You are obliged to go a long distance to sell your pottery, for no one will buy it here; the quality is too poor."

"Come, come! look out; mind what you are saying," growled the angry potter, striking the table with his fist.

"Do not be angry, Procope; remember that I can do nothing without your a.s.sistance."

"You want to rob me."

"Not at all; you will see that my plan will bring you quite a neat little income."

"All right, let me hear it, then; and the devil take you!"

"Well, it is this: if you would only just help me a little at first, I am sure I could succeed; it seems to me that it runs in the blood to do it. Let us build, in partnership, a kiln at Popielnia. We will both attend to the firing of the pottery; and as a compensation for your trouble, half of my profits shall belong to you as long as you live, and you need do nothing all day long but lie down with your feet in the sun and your head in the shade."

At this Procope shook his head gravely.