Iermola Part 7

"Good mother," said he, in a low voice, a little sadly, "help me, teach me, advise me; you will find that I shall know how to show my grat.i.tude. When harvest-time comes, or when it is time to work your garden, you will find that all that sort of work will cost you nothing."

"Make yourself easy," answered the widow; "you know that I am not stingy with my good advice. I will help you and this orphan; but tell me this one thing, do you really believe that in your old age, and knowing nothing about nursing or bringing up children, you will be able to undertake to be its mother?"

At these words Iermola bowed his head and made no reply. Judging the feelings of others by those of his own heart, he feared that under this pretext some one would come and take his baby from him.

Then he rose, cautiously approached the bench, raised the coverings, took the baby gently in his arms, and started toward the threshold. At that moment the door opened, and Chwedko appeared, accompanied by the goat. The white head and horns of the animal appeared in the dark s.p.a.ce of the half-open door, touched by the light of the flickering candle, and began to move. Horpyna, at sight of it, was startled, and screamed.

"Well, well!" cried the widow, "here is a nurse."

"Let us go back to the house," whispered Iermola. "Good-evening, mother; come to see me to-morrow, if you will be so good."

"I will, if only for the sake of curiosity," answered the old woman.

Then the good man, constantly fearing lest they should take his baby from him, hastened to leave the house. His heart felt lighter when he found himself in the street. Chwedko followed behind him, leading the goat, and both went on in silence toward the old ruined inn.

Iermola, however, was communing with himself all along the way.

"Why should I not be able to do it?" said he to himself. "I understand,--I understand; the old woman wanted to keep him herself, the beautiful little angel. But I will not give him to her. No, indeed; she shall not have the care of him. Once more I repeat, 'It is not the saints who make the pots boil.' I will bring up the child! I shall have a son!" he cried, with joyous pride. "My good Chwedko, take care of the goat; I will give you a florin, for you helped me very kindly. May G.o.d have in store for you a more abundant reward!"

The two, walking cautiously along, at last reached the door of the old house. Iermola laid the baby, who was still fast asleep, upon his own bed, and then undertook to light a fire; as for Chwedko, he even put off going to see after his gray mare, the only possession he had in the world. Seeing this, the old man gave a florin to his friend, embraced him, and sent him off, remaining alone in the room with the goat and the baby.

He did not think of going to sleep; he felt no need of sleep, he had so much to do, so many preparations to make. At first he seated himself near the stove, not knowing what to do first, his eyes fixed on the baby as one gazes on a rainbow after a storm. The old goat wandered restlessly about the room, b.u.t.ting against the door with her horns, and mousing around in the corners, picking up whatever she could find to eat.

The noise at last woke the baby; and Iermola sprang forward to hush it, when it occurred to him that the best plan would be to tie the Jewess (that was the name Chwedko had given to Iermola's new possession).

Accordingly he threw her a little straw, and she became quiet, resigning herself to her fate. The baby slept on sweetly and soundly.

Iermola had now no bed for himself, but he did not care for it; he sat down upon the piece of a tree-trunk, cut flat off at both ends, which served him as a stool whenever he wished to sit near the stove.

His bed was well filled; and he had so many things to think about and so many things to do before to-morrow morning!

He had already been warned that he would have to announce the discovery of the baby to the steward Hudny, who represented the estate, and tell him that he, Iermola, would undertake the charge of the poor little one. In addition to this disagreeable duty, which he would have given anything to escape, he had to make a cradle for the baby and to attend to a number of other small matters. Then the creature might waken and cry; he must soothe it lest it should shed tears. However, he felt that he could do all this, for strength did not fail him now,--that strength which comes from the heart.

The whole of this bright, short spring night was pa.s.sed by him full of anxiety and care; the first gray light of morning which shone through the window found him still disturbed and embarra.s.sed, but feeling no need of sleep or rest. Finally he thought he would like to go and cut some feet for the cradle from the old logs which were in his other room; but he feared to leave the child, and besides, the goat might disturb him. The creaking of the door even might waken the little creature; and what if, when he was busy at work, he should not hear him cry!

But the sense of these difficulties and apparent impossibilities overwhelmed him only momentarily; at other times he told himself that it would be easy to surmount it all, and he strengthened himself by hope, forgetful of hunger, fatigue, and want of sleep. The sun was just about to rise when he undertook the task of milking the goat, so that he might have some milk ready when his dear little one wakened; but the old Jewess was not in a kindly and accommodating humour. She was stubborn as a goat; that describes her temper. Moreover, she was accustomed to obey only her old master and mistress, and absolutely refused to submit to the will of her new owner. At first Iermola treated her with great gentleness. He patted her, spoke to her, and endeavoured to convince her of the necessity there was for her to be docile; but all was of no avail, and he was finally compelled to resort to violent measures. Then the goat boldly raised the standard of revolt; she broke her rope and rushed toward the door of the chamber, b.u.t.ting it with her horns. The baby, at this noise, woke; the old man tore his hair.

Fortunately, at this moment the cossack's widow arrived, the curiosity which had consumed her since she wakened having led her to Iermola's hut. Seeing him in such a state of bewilderment, she burst into a loud laugh, but she also set to work and succeeded in milking the goat with the most surprising ease. It might have been because the Jewess was accustomed to allow herself to be milked by women, or perhaps seeing herself alone against two, she doubted the expediency of opposition; but she voluntarily submitted to the widow. As for Iermola, he was already rocking the baby.

"Well," asked the old woman, "how did you pa.s.s the night?"

"I did not go to bed," answered Iermola; "but the baby slept sweetly.

Only that miserable goat--"

"Oh, you will not have much trouble with her; she will become accustomed to you in a day or two if you feed her well. And so the little one slept?"

"Like a little angel! I am sure that there is not a baby in the world who sleeps better than he. You should see how intelligent he is! I believe he almost knows me, neighbour."

The orphan's adopted father was greatly astonished when the widow burst into a hearty laugh on hearing him say this. After that he kept silent, quite abashed.

"I really do not know why G.o.d did not give you a wife and children,"

said she, a moment later; "or rather, why He did not make you a woman."

She stopped suddenly; just outside the door a loud voice was heard, saying, "Ha, Iermola! old idiot, come here; you know very well that I expect you." It was the voice and the signal of the steward Hudny, who, having been already informed of the event of the evening before, desired by visiting the hut to see with his own eyes what had happened, so that he could relate the whole affair to his wife. The old man trembled at the approach of this stern master, whom he feared exceedingly, and whom he usually carefully avoided; but leaving the baby in the hands of his old friend, he hastened out of the hut.

The steward was mounted on a fat little horse, with a well-kept and glossy coat; he wore a gray cloak lined with lambskin, long boots, carried a whip in his hand, and had a cap pulled over his ears. One could see at a glance that he had not left his home fasting; and it was easy to perceive that he had fortified himself against the fog with the usual quant.i.ty of brandy. He was one of those stewards of the new regime, who had taken the place of the loyal and faithful servants of the old. To the defects of his predecessors, which he had preserved intact, he had taken care to add others peculiar to himself, and which were the penalty he paid to the advance of the times. The worthy Mr.

Hudny, as former managers had done, treated the peasants as clowns and clodhoppers. He beat them, oppressed them, and rendered them miserable; moreover, he outrageously robbed and abused those who called him by the old t.i.tle of manager, enjoining it upon his subordinates to address him as my lord the steward, and announcing to all who would listen to him that he should soon rent a large estate.

He and his wife lived like bugs in a rug, on this fine old deserted domain; they seized upon everything they could possibly take, and sought by every means in their power to escape from a position which was distasteful to them. Neither of them had any heart; but they possessed a revolting pride and an absolute want of principle, such as is manifested only in the ranks of a half-disorganized and deeply corrupted society. Two small bright eyes, a little crossed, which sparkled above a round red face, partly concealed by two enormous eyebrows, on account of their uncertain and conflicting expression, at once threatening and cowardly, gave at the first glance some idea of the character of the man. The rest of his rough and irregular features were partly concealed by his abundant beard and by the enormous whiskers which met under his chin.

Iermola bowed till his hands touched the ground.

"What are the orders of my lord the steward?" he asked.

"What is the news at your house? I hear some talk of a cast-off baby."

"Ah, yes, most ill.u.s.trious master," answered the old man, adding the word "ill.u.s.trious" if possible to secure a favourable hearing for his story. "Yesterday evening I heard a moaning sound under the oaks. I thought at first it was an owl; but, no, indeed, it was a baby, please your lordship."

"A boy?"

"Yes, a fine boy."

"And you found nothing else at the same time,--nothing but the baby, eh?" said the steward, fixing upon the old man his piercing, avaricious glance,--a glance which was almost terrifying. "No explanation whatever? No papers, no medal? For everything of that sort, you understand, must be turned over to the police; and the baby must be taken to the hospital."

At these words Iermola began to tremble and wring his hands. "No, my lord," he cried, "there was no sign of an explanation; the baby was wrapped only in a piece of coa.r.s.e white cambric. I swear to this, my lord; but I do not wish--I will not give this little one to anybody, for G.o.d Himself gave him to me."

"Oh, oh! there must be something at the bottom of all this," replied the steward, laughing his wicked laugh. "A child is left at your door, and you wish to keep it? But an inquest may be held, some difficulties may arise, and some expenses be incurred. It is best that you should take the brat to the court or to the chief of the police, so that they can decide the matter; and as for the piece of cambric, send it at once to my wife, do you hear?"

So saying, the steward dismounted and gave his horse to the good man.

Then he entered the hut, and Iermola's heart began to beat very fast.

The poor old man dreaded for his child the presence and the gaze of this man, particularly as he could not go and protect the baby, for he could not leave the horse. He would have liked exceedingly to be present at the interview, but that was impossible; he listened intently, however, so as to hear as much as he could of the conversation which took place between the steward and the cossack's widow. This mental strain and anxiety agitated him to such a degree that when Hudny came out of the lowly mansion, Iermola was wiping away great drops of sweat as large as tears, which were running down his cheeks.

Fortunately the cossack's widow, for whom the steward entertained a sort of respect, had resolved to purchase peace at a moneyed price, and had taken care to buy her supply of b.u.t.ter from the Hudny dairy, and in some way or other succeeded in persuading him; and the result was that he did not persecute Iermola further on the subject of the baby, nor did he again order him to deliver it over to the police.

"Fie, fie, old fool!'" said he, as he remounted his horse. "Upon my word, it seems absurd for you to take upon yourself such a useless burden. However, I will undertake to make the report to the court; but if you take my advice, you will get rid of the new-comer as soon as possible. What necessity is there that you should have another mouth to feed; and why should a child be brought to you? Ah, it must be a droll story," he added, laughing again his coa.r.s.e, wicked laugh.

Iermola, in his terror, kissed his knee and hand and elbow, and begged that he would leave the baby with him with an expression so paternal and tender that any one but the steward would have been deeply touched.

But thus Iermola escaped a disagreeable errand; he was not obliged to go to the _dwor_, which would have been bad for him for two reasons: first, because the sight of the dear old house awoke in him painful memories; and secondly, because the steward and his wife, gentle and fair-spoken to their superiors, were harsh, scornful, and unkind to the common people. Thus he also had his whole day to himself, and could do all that was needful for the baby.

At that moment the sun rose, glad, bright, and radiant, like a messenger of hope and faith. Motion and labour began; a thousand noises awoke along the river sh.o.r.e. As the news, the wonderful news, had spread like lightning, all whose business led them along that road went into Iermola's house to see the baby and hear how it had all happened.

The cossack's widow, more eloquent than her neighbour, undertook to tell the story, which she constantly clothed in new colours, repeating the smallest details with indefatigable delight. Meanwhile the old man occupied himself in making the cradle, for which, fortunately, he found a rush mat, perfectly woven and sufficiently light.

This mat, swung between the two feet which he had constructed as well as he could, then filled with hay, and covered with the softest and whitest cloth that Iermola could find among his rags, was ready about midday. It would have been, indeed, much easier to suspend a basket by a rope to one of the beams of the ceiling, as was the custom of the peasants, and rock it with his foot. But Iermola was afraid of everything where the baby was concerned,--the rope, the hook, the basket, the beam; and he preferred to undertake a tiresome and difficult task himself rather than to expose the innocent creature to any danger.

The widow rallied him upon his anxieties and fears, but she could not convince him. Then when the cradle was finished, he found it necessary to rearrange the chamber,--that room in which nothing had been moved for so many years. Now it must be arranged differently altogether,--so that the light should not fall upon the baby's eyes; so that he should not feel the draught from the door or the heat from the stove. And after that, he had to build a little shelter in one corner for the goat, with the help of an old door and a broken-down ladder. The obstinate animal did not become at all more docile. She ate whatever was thrown to her, but she would allow no one to come near her; and it was necessary for the present to keep her tied.

When his various preparations were ended, Iermola came and seated himself beside the widow, and listened attentively to all the precepts she laid down to him on the subject of caring for the baby. By dint of strict attention and numberless and exact questionings, he succeeded in learning precisely what he should give him to eat, how many times and in how much water he should bathe him, how he should amuse him, quiet him, and put him to sleep.

The profound and inexpressible affection he felt for the innocent new-comer was only equalled by the intensity of his hatred for the horned and rebellious goat, who persisted in her disobedience, and would not endeavour to appreciate the good fortune which was in store for her. All the while that Iermola was listening to the widow, he cast upon the Jewess a menacing glance, unable to boast sufficiently of the baby's lovable qualities or sufficiently to deplore the goat's unworthiness, her stupidity, and the detestable habits she had acquired while frequenting the inn.