Iermola Part 5

Thus the lower cla.s.ses speak of every unexpected event which may serve as a pretext for feasting or drinking.

"An occasion! What is it? A baptism? A betrothal? A wedding or a funeral? Is any one dead, any accident? I'll venture you have come to ask for some brandy on credit."

"No, indeed, sir; but I chanced to hear something, and I wanted to tell my lord the merchant about it. It is perhaps an opportunity to make something."

"Let me hear; what is there to be made?" said Szmula, rising, thrusting his hands into his girdle, and approaching Chwedko.

"Your Honour" (this t.i.tle was specially flattering to the Jew's vanity),--"your Honour knows Iermola, the old man who lives in the old ruined inn."

"Certainly I know him; but he is only a poor devil, a beggar."

"That is true, but it does not prevent his having gained a few roubles."

"Well, what? He wants to drink them up?"

"No, no! he does not drink brandy, but he has taken it into his head to buy a cow, paying half the amount down and asking credit for the balance."

"A cow! and what will he do with it?"

"He was going to the town to look for one; but I stopped him because I thought of a plan for him."

"To the town! always to the town!" repeated the Jew, shrugging his shoulders. "The fools! That is their first thought. But tell me, Chwedko, what is your plan?"

"I have tried to make him think that it is not a good idea for him to have a cow and be in debt; that it would be better for him to buy a goat with his money. He would have milk immediately, and in a little while a flock. Perhaps you would sell him your white goat?" Just here the Jew fixed his piercing eye on Chwedko's face, but he fortunately was not disturbed thereby. It was scarcely possible, in fact, to suspect any design in so simple a proposition. The innkeeper, however, tried to sound the intentions of the good man by a sudden question.

"Is Iermola here at the inn?"

"No; since noon he has been down there with the neighbours. But if you wish, I can go and bring him here, though usually he does not like to come to the inn. But perhaps you do not wish to sell your old white goat? I merely thought of this for your interest; why should you let all the money of the people go out of the village? However, if the idea does not suit you, say nothing about it, and let him go on to the town."

"Wait a moment, wait," said the Jew, after a pause, seeing Chwedko with his hand on the k.n.o.b of the door. "Why should he go to the town?"

Here he called Sara, who came in with a discontented countenance; they exchanged a few words in their own language, Szmula speaking in a low voice and his wife looking very cross. Chwedko tried to divine the intentions of the couple from their voices and their gestures, but in vain; the Jewess went out at last, and Szmula, turning to him and slapping him on the shoulder, said,--

"You are a good man when you want brandy on credit. I have told Sara to let you have a rouble's worth; do you hear? Bring Iermola here in the great hall. The goat is there; he can buy it. It is a good goat; he will like it. It is an excellent goat. How much money has he?"

"I do not know really," answered Chwedko. "He must have, I think, about fifteen florins; and the cossack's widow will probably lend him something more."

The Jew nodded his head silently, and having thus taken leave of the peasant, who hastened to rejoin his companion, he put on a warmer overcoat, for he took great care of his precious health; then he walked slowly into the great hall under pretext of going to look over some accounts with his servant, Marysia, who on the Sabbath as well as all other days served at the bar of the inn, besides which she took care of the children, milked the cow, in fact, rendered herself generally useful to the household.

The great hall, dark, dirty, and mean-looking, without any floor, dimly lighted by a torch of resinous wood which was smoking in one corner, was occupied at this moment only by Marysia (who was so very fat and short that the peasants compared her to one of the big-bellied barrels in which bacon is put up in brine), the white goat, who wandered around looking in all the corners for something to eat, and a Polesian peasant, who, after having taken a small gla.s.s of brandy and an onion, had stretched himself beside the wall with his money-bag and his shoes under his head, and was sleeping like a rock, and snoring like a chariot in need of greasing.

Szmula walked up and down for some time, looking first at the goat and then at Marysia, who was quite astonished at his sudden entrance. He yawned, sighed, and turned his thumbs over each other; then all at once hearing the sound of a footstep in the vestibule, he went to the window and began chalking figures on the shutter, keeping his eyes fixed on his calculations, and pretending to be very busy.

Just at that moment Chwedko appeared, followed by old Iermola, who was trembling like a leaf and blushing also at the thought of the farce he was obliged to play in order to get the white goat. His first glance fell upon the tall figure of the Jew; and this glance would doubtless have been sufficient to betray him if Szmula had seen it. But fortunately the Jew at that moment was entirely taken up with his own role; he seemed utterly absorbed in important business, and was standing with his back to the two friends.

"Good-evening, my lord merchant," began Chwedko.

"Good-evening," answered Szmula, half turning round, and muttering a few words through his beard.

"Well, what shall we do? Shall we take a drink of brandy?" continued Chwedko.

"For my part, I rarely drink; but to keep you company--Pour out something for us to drink, Marysia."

"You are going to the fair," resumed the first speaker; "you must strengthen yourself for the journey."

"Ah! so you are going to the fair, are you?" interrupted Szmula.

"Perhaps you have something to sell. I shall be glad to buy it from you."

"No, I am going for another purpose."

"And what is it?" said the Jew. "This is the way all of you peasants do,--as soon as you have any business to transact, you run to the town.

Are you thinking of buying anything?"

"See here, my lord merchant," answered Chwedko, interrupting, "my neighbour wants a cow; he is lonely, and for company's sake is willing to take on himself one more bother."

"But why get a cow?" asked the Jew, in a scornful tone.

"Well, it would give me some pleasure, and perhaps some profit."

"Pshaw, pshaw!" cried Szmula, waving his hand, "one can see plainly that you never have owned a cow, and that you do not know what it is to take care of one. First, you must pay the little herdsman, and G.o.d only knows how much the herdsman asks; besides, the cattle always come home hungry. Then you will be obliged to buy hay,--and hay costs as much now as pepper; and tailings,--and tailings are now ten coppers a bag; and buckwheat,--and I do not sell that for less than forty coppers a bag; that is what every one pays me. Besides, she must have gra.s.s and potatoes; and if you do not give her some of all these things, the animal will get poor. Then there are so many diseases and so much time when the creature gives no milk. Think of it! not a drop of milk for six months in the year!"

"Yes; but one has the calf and a little milk."

"And who, pray, will take care of the animal for you?" interrupted the Jew, shrugging his shoulders.

"What did I tell you?" here put in Chwedko. "For a poor man like you a cow is only a bother and nothing else."

"But she would give me nevertheless a calf and a few drops of milk."

"Yes, about milk; talk about that," answered the officious go-between.

"As for milk, I can a.s.sure you there is nothing so good as a goat.

Observe, a goat costs very little and lives upon anything it can find,--branches, leaves, or stubble. Besides, a goat needs no care; and when once you have tasted goat-milk, you can be sure you have had something to drink, it is so sweet and nourishing."

"Really, to tell you the truth," said the innkeeper, in his turn, "I can a.s.sure you there is nothing like a goat. If any people know how to manage, it is our race, I believe; and you see that we almost invariably have goats. But men have opportunities to observe, yet do not comprehend; a goat is a treasure."

"Well, when I have thought the matter over, perhaps I shall buy a goat," said Iermola.

"And you will do well," cried Chwedko,--"you will do well, I repeat.

Now suppose Mr. Szmula were to sell you his white goat?"

"What is it you are saying?" said the Jew, quickly, as though he had heard by chance. "I would not sell my white goat for any price; do you hear? It is the only pet of my wife and children, and moreover it is an invaluable animal; it is worth more than a cow."

"I am sorry," answered Iermola, looking attentively at the white goat, which was strolling around, "for the town is not here; my old legs will scarcely carry me so far, and, dear me, I might have decided to buy your goat."

"True, it is only a goat, but such a goat!" answered the Jew. "Have you ever seen one like it? She has so much instinct, so much sense, upon my word, one might almost talk to her; and as for her milk, it is all cream. You might go twenty miles and not find her equal. It is not a goat; it is a treasure, a rare possession."

"But it is old," observed old Iermola, respectfully.

"Old, old! Well, what does that matter? The older a goat grows, the more it is worth. Besides, how could it be old? It has hardly begun to live; it will live twenty years yet," cried Szmula, becoming more and more excited.