Part 16 (1/2)
”But the child wishes to do it so very much.”
”You will see that this will not help you at all.”
”Perhaps it may be so; but how can I do it?”
”You may try, of course, for you will not mind the time. But do you believe that these potters will be sufficiently tempted by your money to give you the secrets of their art?”
”But I will pay them well.”
”They are not so foolish as to give a florin for a penny. Do they not know that you want to take the bread out of their mouths? You are not going to learn for your amus.e.m.e.nt,--that is clear.”
At these words, Iermola seemed troubled and bowed his head.
”All that is very true,” said he; ”but when once G.o.d has helped you, He never abandons you till the end. I hesitated very much before, when I went to see Procope; I did not even know where to go to find clay. Yet it was found, and everything succeeded, and now--well, something will turn up.”
Something will turn up, is the great unanswerable argument of our poor people, to which they have recourse when all others fail,--an argument which answers for everything and puts an end to all difficulties, for it tacitly expresses faith in Providence and confidence in the intervention of G.o.d.
At this moment the gray mare, being accustomed always to eat her small ration of hay in front of the inn, situated about a third of the way and in the midst of the wood, did not go past the well-known place, but stopped of her own accord. Chwedko also got down here regularly to drink a small gla.s.s of brandy and light his pipe.
He felt, however, some confusion, seeing that the gray had stopped without his permission; he dared not, in Iermola's presence, go and take his dram without any excuse, but he got down from the wagon and threw a handful of hay to the mare.
”How warm it is!” said he, as he shook his pipe.
”It is indeed; the sun burns one.”
”Would you like to go into the dining-room for a moment? Sometimes, when I feel as if there was something heavy on my stomach, I take a little dram.”
”How about the heat?”
”Oh, a little brandy is refres.h.i.+ng.”
”Very well, neighbour, let's take a drink; I will pay for it,” said Iermola, as he got down from the wagon.
The inn in question was one among others where the Jew was constantly on the watch for the peasant, his poor dupe.
The Israelite who lived here did not hesitate to avow that he made his living by selling brandy. There was no courtyard in front of the inn and no stable for horses.
The house was crooked and broken-down, half in ruins and considerably sunken in the ground; but the narrow s.p.a.ce in front of it showed at a glance that it was much frequented.
It was situated at a cross-road where three ways met, in the midst of an old forest of oak and undergrowth of alder, visibly damaged by the wheels of wagons, and offering a sight to travellers which at once explained the history of Dubowka (this was the name of the inn hidden among the brush-wood). All around there was nothing but remains of straw, hay, grain, bark, bones, bits of bread, egg-sh.e.l.ls, fragments of broken china,--to say nothing of the different spots which showed plainly that many of the teams which stopped in front of the inn of Iuk remained there longer than they had intended.
Upon these remains of hay, straw, millings, and sometimes grain, the Jew's cow and goats, accustomed to live by plunder, grew fat, for as soon as a wagon appeared, one could be sure to see one of these animals steal from behind the house, with the step of a wolf, and retire quietly with the straw or hay upon which they proposed to feed. It was useless to try to drive them away even with a stick; in fact, they ran off whenever the door was opened, but returned again immediately with the double persistency of hunger and gluttony.
The old labourers, being well acquainted with the habits of the place, never left their wagons in front of the inn without leaving their wives or children standing, whip in hand, to drive off the bold invaders. But these impertinent creatures were so sly! if for a moment the children would turn their heads or the mothers begin to scold, one of the goats would jump up on his hind-feet at the back of the wagon and do much damage. Iuk, the owner of the inn, was a little Jew of the very worst kind; lame and quarrelsome, a fool, but a fool after the manner of Sologne, avaricious and mean, in every sense of the words, he cheated and stole from the peasants, without the slightest consideration or shame, and often ended his quarrels with them by fighting with his fists, knowing very well that he would make them repay him in money for every bruise or blow he might receive; and whether beaten or beating, he would always manage to get the advantage.
How he succeeded in living night and day in such endless tumult and turmoil, in constant fuss and noise, never closing his doors, and only lying down to sleep about daybreak on an empty bench, is something that never will be understood.
Iuk knew every one, having studied carefully not only each individual in his own community, but also each one of those belonging to the small neighbouring towns. As soon as the wagons of the peasants of the vicinity stopped before his door, he knew at the first glance whether he must be ready to receive them with a smile, a blow of his fist, a low bow, or a scornful expression.
”Those from Popielnia,” said he, ”are all great lords; they must always have an onion or a clove of garlic to eat with their bit of bread, and almost every one of them buys a b.u.t.tered roll. Those from Malyczki are good workmen, but better drunkards; and from Wiezbera they are all Bohemians, all thieves.”