Iermola Part 26

The old man, guiding himself by inspecting the mosses and the part of the sky whence the light came, continued to go northward. They neither saw nor encountered any one; and toward evening they stopped on a little rising ground, shadowed by such thickly growing pine-trees and hazel-nut bushes that they could allow themselves boldly to light a fire without fear of being betrayed by the smoke or by the crackling of the flames.

Iermola then declared that they were too far from Malyczki for any one to discover any trace of them. Their feet, in fact, had left no impression upon the slippery, moss-covered ground under the sombre dome of the pines; chance alone could put the pursuers on their track.

The two travellers were extremely tired; so after having eaten a bit of dry bread and drank out of the hollow of their hands some water from the brook in the forest, they stretched themselves on the ground near their fire, which sent up a clear red flame. Iermola roasted a few potatoes which he had brought with him; and this was their evening meal.

Radionek appeared happy all the time, but now he scarcely talked at all. His breath seemed to fail him sometimes; for having been a long time accustomed to an indoor life, he could with difficulty endure such a rapid march.

A wandering blackbird, roused by the crackling of the flames, wished them good-evening; a light breeze, pa.s.sing over the summits of the pines, awoke vague murmurs in the depths of the forest. Then all was hushed; and a solemn silence began to reign again over the immense and gloomy forest.

The third day they came to woods less thick, where the trees grew smaller; low, tangled brush-wood took the place of the old trees of pine and oak; the earth was damper, softer, and more thickly covered with verdure.

They comprehended that they were coming to the low and often inundated regions; they would have to go along the edge of some vast marshes, for here and there they perceived at a distance large tracts covered with mud, interspersed with salt-water ponds.

It became impossible to follow the direction they had at first chosen; but as they had still some bread, and as their strength seemed not yet in danger of giving out, Iermola determined to turn a little to the left so as to avoid encountering the marshes. Radionek, quite restored, proposed to seek a frequented road, follow it, stop in the nearest village, and afterward go on fearlessly into the interior of the country; but Iermola did not yet dare thus to tempt fortune. Choosing, therefore, the more elevated land, across the clearings of brakes and brush-wood, they walked on in the solitude three more days, when at the end of the last day the old man, as they stopped for rest, remarked such a change in the child's face that he was seriously alarmed, and resolved to run the risk and look for the public road himself.

In fact, poor Radionek could hardly walk any longer; his courage alone kept him on his feet and supplied his strength. Unaccustomed to fatigue and labour, exposed thus to constant exertion just after a long illness, he was every moment in danger of fainting away and never rising again.

He was pale and oppressed, and complained of a great heaviness in his head. Soon he fell into a deep, heavy sleep, from which Iermola could scarcely rouse him.

It was then necessary to seek for help, to find men, a shelter, a village; and in the mean time, as our travellers had just come across a wood-cutter's hut on the road, Iermola pretended to be weary, and proposed to stop, although the day was not nearly ended.

The portion of the forest where they then were was much less wild than that which they had crossed some days before, when they plunged through the brakes.

Here and there was an old forgotten beam, bits of wood chips, a trunk recently deprived of its branches, attesting that some villages must be quite near; the air, moreover, impregnated with the odour of smoke and fragrance of the fields, gave evidence of the existence of some inhabited place in the vicinity.

These various indications contributed to restore the old man somewhat; but on the other hand, seeing the child so sadly weakened, he did not know what to do, how to be able to go, or where to look for help for Radionek.

Their terrible and threatening position rose before him in all its horrors. Nevertheless the poor old man, recommending himself to the all-powerful mercy of G.o.d, employed his remaining strength in preparing a bed of leaves in one corner of the hut, and determined to go in search of a village as soon as poor Radionek should go to sleep. The fainting child, having taken a few swallows of water, had scarcely stretched himself on his bed before he was sleeping like a rock.

The old man's limbs also trembled under him, and his head swam; he was greatly in need of rest and sleep, but he could not think of either one or the other. Leaning on his stick, he plunged into the forest in search of the village, which from all indications could not be far away.

Sure enough, in the distance, behind a long stretch of bushes and brush-wood he soon perceived quite a large village, whose blackened houses were ranged in a half-circle along the edge of the lake. It was surrounded by gardens full of large pear-trees; wells with sweeps and with cranks could be seen in the distance; two old _cerkiews_ with cupolas rose at the two extremities, but there was no _dwor_ to be seen; in the centre, however, on a little hill surrounded by the rains of ramparts and old fallen walls, there was a small plank house, which could not be the residence of the lord, but must be that of the steward.

The old man, after making these observations, concluded that the village he saw before him was not one of the little towns of Wolhynian Polesia.

The country around him, though somewhat resembling his native land, was more marshy, flatter, and more dreary-looking. He was convinced, upon examining the different style of the dwellings, the sandy hills, the clear water of the lake, and the larch-trees growing near the Russian church, that according to appearances he must be in a corner of Dobrynian Russia, or else in the vicinity of Pinsk.

But the village was too far off for him to go there for a.s.sistance, to leave the child all alone in that hut just at nightfall. Accordingly the old man after a moment retraced his steps; he sat down on the sill of the door, leaned against the doorway, and fell into an anxious and disturbed sleep, with his eyes always fixed on Radionek, whose face in the half-light was pale and motionless as that of a marble statue. For some moments he listened to his breathing; he watched his sleep. Then again, broken down by fatigue, he returned and sat down; and in this position, thoroughly overcome by sleep and weariness, he at last unwillingly closed his tired eyes.

Near them a bright fire, built of branches and dry leaves, burned and sparkled until daylight; and in the morning, the old man, feeling a little more quiet, slept two or three hours much more peaceably.

When he woke, he saw with astonishment the great bright, glad sun shining above his head, the sweet morning light smiling at him through the trees, and a woman, still young and beautiful, though very pale, regarding him in silence mingled with surprise, doubt, and sorrow.

This new-comer, who had very black eyes and hair, was tall and slender; she was dressed in a gown of coloured calico and wore on her head a handkerchief arranged after the fashion of the women belonging to the lesser n.o.bility. She held in her hand a closed knife, a basket in which to put mushrooms, and some provisions wrapped in a white linen bag.

Iermola, when he saw her, was as much surprised as she was; he opened his mouth, was about to exclaim, to p.r.o.nounce a name, then stopped, hesitated in doubt, and looked again.

But the stranger, starting back a few steps, cried at the same time,--

"Are you old Iermola?"

"Is it you, Horpyna? Is it you, my dear lady?" answered the old man, correcting himself quickly.

"What are you doing here?"

The unhappy creature, full of trouble, was silent, not knowing what to reply.

"You are here alone?"

"No, madame, with Radionek."

"You have run away from Popielnia? Tell me, then, what has happened to you?"

Iermola had no need of dissimulation in the presence of one whom he knew so well, and whom he esteemed so highly; he therefore in a few words told her his whole story.

She listened attentively, grieved, and somewhat indignant, but above all filled with astonishment, and in the bottom of her heart a little displeased at the coming of this old friend who could reveal to every one her real origin (for since she had lived in that country, she had pretended to belong to the lesser n.o.bility). But she did not wish to refuse the unfortunate man either her a.s.sistance or her advice, for she had been very fond of the child, and besides, she was really sympathetic and charitable.

"It is useless to think of mushrooms to-day," said she, shutting up her knife; "come to the village. My husband is the steward there; there is a vacant cabin,--one formerly occupied by the blacksmith. We will put you in it for the present."

At this Iermola threw himself at her feet and embraced them, then went to rouse the child.

But all night Radionek had been in a burning fever; he had talked in his sleep of things the old man could not understand. He seemed disturbed and in pain; and when it was necessary to waken him, it was impossible to do so. He sat up on his bed, trembled, looked round bewildered, did not recognize Iermola, and fell back upon his bed, complaining first of being very cold and then of a burning heat. It was impossible to be mistaken any longer; the child was in the early stage of some terrible illness. Iermola, exhausted and in despair, wrung his hands and sobbed aloud.

"He is cold and tired; he must have drunk some bad water when he was in a perspiration," cried Horpyna. "Do not be so anxious; that is not so bad, only the poor child may be sick for a few days."

"But how can I carry him to the village? Perhaps it would be better to let him be quiet here."

"Certainly, do not rouse him; the fever will soon pa.s.s off," said the steward's wife. "I will go back home and send you something to eat, for hunger alone is enough to cause illness. Light a fire in the fireplace; stop up the cracks in the door as well as you can; cover the child up well, and do not move from here. I will send you some herb tea."

Iermola took off all of his own clothes except his shirt, to cover his child, then sat down weeping beside his bed. Horpyna hastened to return, for she loved Radionek, whom she had cared for when he was a baby; and she felt a sincere pity for him.

After a few hours, the messenger whom she sent from her house arrived, bringing some fresh bread, some water, some herbs good in sickness, and some brandy for Iermola; a boy also accompanied him, who was to remain at the hut to a.s.sist the old man.

But it was still impossible to rouse Radionek sufficiently to make him take the refreshing tea which Horpyna had prepared.

His face burned like fire; his eyes, half open, shone with a strange light. The fever and delirium were evidently increasing.

In the silent forest, under the sombre branches of the old pine-trees, was about to be enacted the last scene of this drama of love,--this rustic drama, which would perhaps be improbable, if it were not strictly true in every detail, true in its sad simplicity.

The day after the one on which he had gone to sleep in the forester's hut, Radionek opened his eyes for a moment, recognized and smiled upon the old man, who rejoiced and began to hope; but this smile was like the last flicker of a dying lamp.

The child began to amuse himself, to talk in a low voice, telling of all he meant to do when he should get rested and well again; he proposed to go to work immediately, spoke in turn of Popielnia, Huluk, the widow, the happy days of the past, Malyczki, and the sorrowful days of trial. He tried especially to rea.s.sure and cheer the old man, who wept bitterly; but while he was speaking, he grew weaker and fell again into a doze, then a violent fever came on, during which he threw himself about, cried, trembled, as though he thought himself pursued by some invisible enemy, and so he died in the arms of Iermola, upon whose breast he sought shelter, and who held him tightly in his embrace.

The old man strained to his bosom a long while the beautiful, pure young form, now still and cold, which he could not make up his mind to surrender to the grave; he did not utter a word, but the big tears fell from her eyes,--silent, bitter tears. At last his breast heaved, and a great sorrowful cry escaped him.

"My child! my child!" Then he buried his hands in his gray hair, and fled like a madman into the depths of the forest.