Part 12 (1/2)
”That would not be a bad thing; but who will go security for you?”
”Your lord.”
”The old officer, the wicked old scoundrel?” cried Procope.
”Yes, he himself; he has seen and pitied the trying situation in which I am placed in my old age, and has advised me to do this to remedy it.”
Procope was confounded, and for a moment made no reply. He looked puzzled, and pulled his beard.
”Is it really the chief of squadron who advises you to do this? What does he know about the business? You all seem to think that it is as easy to turn pots as to plough a furrow, and that one can light a kiln as easily as he can make soup. Now, I have worked at making pottery all my life, and still I do not always succeed.”
”Because you do not take the trouble to do it. You have money enough, food, and a cottage; why should you worry yourself when there is no need of it?”
”That is true enough; but do you really believe, my old friend, that you can learn easily? Mind, I tell you that this thing needs a young head.”
”Only try me; your lord will be pleased if you will.”
”The devil take him with his lord!” muttered Procope. ”Do you suppose the lord cares for the needs of one man?”
”But suppose we should find at Popielnia some good clay for making white pottery? You only make dark things which are ugly and good for nothing.”
At these words, Procope rose up in a perfect rage, his fists clinched and his eyes bloodshot.
”They are good for nothing?” he cried in a voice like thunder. ”Just wait till I get hold of you, old scoundrel, and you will see that your lord himself will not be able to help you.”
”And will you be any better off after you have killed an orphan child and a poor old man?” answered Iermola, humbly, looking down.
His gentleness and submission disarmed the old potter; and he began to smile.
”What orphan are you talking about?” said he.
”Ah! so you know nothing about it all?”
”Nothing at all; I have been travelling for a long time. Tell me about the orphan.”
Then the old man, quite satisfied with having appeased the terrible potter, who, though violent and pa.s.sionate, was really good-hearted, set to work to narrate his adventure, without omitting the least incident or smallest detail, as peasants always do when they tell a story; and fortunately he succeeded in telling it in such a way as to interest and touch Procope. The old potter called his servant that she might hear it also; and thanks to Iermola's touching recital, a whole hour pa.s.sed without their knowledge. True feeling called forth true feeling; and pity arose in their hearts.
Procope continued to swear and grumble, now, however, no longer at his visitor, but at those unworthy, miserable, wretched creatures who had been so hard-hearted as to abandon a poor child to all the chances of fate and the miseries of an orphan's life. Iermola's situation consequently interested him and excited his pity; perhaps also the remembrance of the dreaded lord, so well known to all his serfs, contributed to increase this favourable impression. To make a long story short, when the little company rose from the table, after having talked for several hours, the potter promised Iermola to come to Popielnia the next day to see the child and look for clay.
Having obtained this promise, which was sealed in a good b.u.mper of brandy, Iermola returned to the _dwor_ to inform his protector of the fortunate result of his day's visit; then hastening through the woods by an unfrequented path, he reached Popielnia, anxious about his little charge and fearful lest Horpyna had hindered him from sleeping by too much petting, or made him sick by stuffing him with sweets.
Tired and dusty, his lips parched, his brow damp with perspiration, full of anxiety concerning the next day's interview with Procope, and trembling lest he had entertained vain hopes and lost precious time, Iermola at last reached the widow's cabin. He immediately seized his dear little Radionek and devoured him with kisses as though he had not seen him for a year; then not desiring to confess to his neighbour the proceedings of the day, he hastened to return to his own cabin.
The next morning he was up at daybreak. He was obliged again to intrust the baby to Horpyna, for it would have been impossible to hold him in his arms as he wandered about the vicinity with Procope; then he busied himself sweeping and arranging his cabin, putting out a flask of brandy, and roasting in his oven a good-sized piece of meat for Procope's dinner, knowing he would not be content with a little, for he was accustomed to living very abundantly.
The potter of Malyczki kept his promise faithfully; about eight o'clock in the morning his little one-horse carriage stopped before the old inn. They put up the mare as well as possible in a half-fallen angle of the wall, and then, as Procope, after having taken two or three drinks of brandy, asked to go first to see the baby, they immediately repaired to the widow's cabin. They were probably expected, judging from the sumptuous reception which was offered them.
The old woman, anxious to second Iermola's efforts, and urged on by her vanity to appear liberal and magnificent in the presence of her guest, had prepared an excellent soup of oatmeal and gruel, a large dish of sausages,--the favourite meat of the inhabitants of Popielnia,--and also a large and appetizing omelet, which greatly added to the luxury of the reception, and at the same time gave the potter a great idea of the widow's opulence.