“Are you sleeping, Yagna?”
“How can I sleep? I woke at dawn ... with the thought that I am to be
married to-day.”
“You are sorry, darling, are you?” she whispered; there was in her heart
a mingling of hope and fear.
“Wherefore? Shall I be sorry that I must leave your home, and go to my
own?”
Dominikova, crushing down the pang which suddenly seized her at the
words, did not reply at once. She rose from her bed, dressed herself
carelessly, and went out to wake up the lads in the stable. These had
overslept themselves somewhat, the “Unbinding of Hair”[20] having taken
place in the cabin the evening before. It was broad daylight, and the
morning, clad in hoarfrost, flooded the world with silvery splendour.
-----
Footnote 20:
As Polish peasant-girls’ tresses are cut after the wedding, they have
a little domestic party the evening before, to which only girls are
invited, and the tresses are then unbound, ready to be
shorn.—_Translator’s Note._
Dominikova washed her face in the passage, and went quietly about the
house, ever and anon peeping at Yagna, whose face was scarcely
discernible in the shades of the bedroom, dark as yet.
“Lie there, darling! lie there still! Lie for the last time in thy
mother’s home,” she murmured, love and sorrowing pain contending within
her many a time. What she had coveted so ardently, she had now: yet she
felt such anguish that she could not but wince at the smart of it, and
sat down upon the bed.—Boryna ... a kind man, who would treat her
daughter with due respect.... And Yagna could do whatever she liked with
this man, who saw nothing in the whole world but her!
No. It was not he that she dreaded, but the stepchildren.—Ah, why had he
driven the Anteks from his home? Now, if ever, would they brew mischief
and seek revenge. But yet, if he had not done so?... Antek at Yagna’s
side!—A sin against God might have ensued.—Well, there was no help for
it now. The banns were published, the guests invited; the pig was
killed, the settlement safely stowed away.... No, no, no! What would
come of it had to come; and while Dominikova lived, she would suffer no
wrong to be done to her daughter.—Having come to this final decision,
she went out to rate the lads for their sloth.
When she returned, she thought to rouse her daughter too; but Yagna had
fallen asleep again, and the quiet regular breathing of slumber was
heard from her bed. Once more did the mother feel anxieties and
uncertainties swoop down upon her, like hawks with talons tearing at her
heart, screaming distrust, and predicting some vaguely awful impending
doom. But she dropped on her knees by the window and, with red bleared
eyes fixed upon the flushed dawn, prayed very hard for a long time. And
she rose, full of strength to meet any fate that might come, no matter
what!
“Now, Yagna dear, get up; it is high time. Eva is coming at once to
cook, and we have so much to do still!”
“Is the weather fine?” the girl inquired, raising her heavy head.
“So fine that all the country round is glistening over with hoarfrost.
The sun will rise presently.”
Yagna, aided by her mother, was soon dressed. Then the latter, after due
consideration, spoke thus:
“What I have told you before, I will repeat again. Boryna is a good,
kind man; but you must take great care ... not to make friends with any
chance acquaintance, or let tongues ever again wag against you. People
are curs: they love to bite.—You hear me, dear?”
“I hear, yes; but you speak as though I had not any judgment at all.”
“No one is the worse for good advice.—See well to this: Boryna must
never be set at naught, but always treated with tender respect. An old
man cares much more for that sort of thing than a young one does.... And
who knows whether he may not settle all his land on you? or perhaps give
you a big sum—from hand to hand?”
“For that I care nothing,” she interrupted impatiently.
“Because you are young and inexperienced. Look round you: what is it men
quarrel for, work for, and make every attempt to get? Why, what but
property, property alone!—The Lord never, never made you for toil and
suffering.—Whom have I laboured for all my life, if not for my
Yagna?—And now I shall be alone—quite alone!”
“But the lads will not quit your side; they will always be with you.”
“Of them I have as much joy as of the day that is no more!” She wept,
and added, wiping her eyes: “You must also live in harmony with your
husband’s children.”
“Yuzka is a kindly girl. Gregory will not be back from the army for some
time yet. And—and....”
“Beware of the smith!”
“Why, he is on the best of terms with Matthias.”
“If so, it is for some reason of his own: be sure of that.—The Anteks
are worst of all; they will not be reconciled.... His Reverence wanted
to make peace yesterday, but they would none of it.”
“Oh, but Matthias is a wicked old man to drive them from his house!”
Yagna burst out passionately.
“What’s that—what do you say, Yagna? Do you know that Antek would have
taken back the land from us—that he cursed you, and said of you things
unfit to repeat?”
“Antek against me? Antek? They lie who told you so.... May their foul
tongues drop out of their heads!”
“Oh! And what is it sets you so strongly on his side? Say!” she asked
with a threatening look.
“Their being all against him! I am not a begging dog that fawns on all
who toss him bread. He is ill-used, and I know it!”
“You would like to return the deed of settlement to him, would you not?”
Yagna could speak no further; a stream of tears fell from her eyes; she
rushed into the inner room, bolted the door, and cried there for a long
while.
Dominikova did not try to interfere. The scene had awakened new feelings
of anxiety in her mind, but she had no time to brood over them. Eva
came; the lads slouched into the passage; the last preparations and
arrangements were now to be made.
The sun was up, and the morning-tide rolling on.
The frost of the previous night had been hard enough for the roadside
pools and the borders of the pond to be coated with ice, and the
quagmires to bear the weight of the lesser flocks.
Now it was growing warmer, though in the shadow and under the hedges the
frost still reigned. The thatches dripped with crystal drops, and
wreaths of smoke-like vapour were curling up from the marshes.
Not the least little cloud floated in the dark azure of the sky.
Nevertheless, crows hovering about the cabins, and cocks frequently
crowing, foretold bad weather to come.
It was Sunday; and though the bells had not yet begun to ring, the whole
village was like a hive of swarming bees. Half the inhabitants were
smartening themselves up for the wedding of Boryna with Yagna.
In every cabin, turmoil and racket prevailed; everyone was getting
ready, trying things on, and dressing carefully; and out of many an open
window and door came the sounds of merry voices.
On Dominikova’s premises, of course, everything was in seething tumult,
as usual on such a day.
The cottage, freshly whitewashed, was noticeable from afar, having been
decorated with green boughs in Whitsuntide fashion. Already the day
before, the boys had come to fix pine-branches on the thatched roof and
where possible along every chink in the wall. From the fence to the
porch, fir-tree boughs had been likewise set up, so that the fragrance
was like that of the woods in the springtime.
Within, the arrangements made were very fine indeed.
On the farther side of the house, generally used as a store-room, a
great fire had been made, and Eva from the miller’s was cooking there
with some neighbours and Yagustynka to help her.
All the furniture had been removed from the other side, the room
whitewashed afresh within, the chimney-piece veiled with a great piece
of blue drapery. Nothing remained but the holy images on the walls; but
the lads had carried in stout benches and long tables, which they set up
along the sides. The ceiling, with its age-darkened rafters, had been
adorned with paper figures that Yagna had herself cut out. Matthias had
fetched her coloured paper from town, out of which she had snipped many
a fringed and variously coloured circle, and imitating flowers, and
curiosities of different descriptions—as, for instance, a dog running
after sheep, its master following it, staff in hand; or a church
procession, with priest, banners flying, and images borne aloft—and so
many other marvels of the same kind, it was impossible to remember them
all! And all were well-shaped and artistic in appearance, and had been
greatly admired the evening before, when they were unplaiting Yagna’s
tresses. She knew how to make many another thing besides—anything that
caught her eye or fancy; and in all Lipka there was not a cabin without
some cutting made by her hands.
Having partly dressed herself in the other room, she came out to paste
the rest of her cuttings upon the walls beneath the holy images, there
being no room anywhere else.
“Yagna! will you have done with those fancy things of yours? The people
are assembling, the band is marching through the village: and that girl
is amusing herself with drolleries!”
“Plenty of time, plenty of time,” she returned briefly; but she now
stuck no more cuttings, and busied herself strewing the floor with
pine-needles, laying the tables with fine linen cloth, exchanging a few
words with her brothers, or strolling about the place and looking out at
the scenery. But she felt no pleasure in all this: not the least. She
was going to dance and hear the band play, and was fond both of music
and of dancing: that was all. Her soul, like the present day of autumn
serenity, was cloudless and radiant, but lifeless. Were it not that all
things reminded her it was her wedding-day, she might even have
forgotten that. At the “Unplaiting,” the day before, Boryna had put in
her hands eight strings of coral beads—all that his wives had left at
their death. And now they lay at the bottom of her trunk: she had not
even put them on. To-day she felt no interest in anything. Willingly
would she have flown away somewhere—but where, she knew not! Everything
teased her; and what her mother had told her about Antek recurred
persistently to her mind. What! _he_ speak evil of her? She could not,
would not believe it: the very thought made tears start.—Yet, it might
be!... Yesterday, she was washing linen; he had passed by, and never
looked her way! In the morning, she was going with Boryna to confession.
Antek, coming in their direction, had turned back as from a savage
dog.... Well, then, let him snarl at her if he would; let him snarl!
She began to feel herself in indignant revolt against him. But a sudden
flash of memory brought that evening back to her, when they had returned
together from plucking cabbages at his father’s. The recollection went
to her head, her mind was wrapped and plunged in flames all over; it
revived so intensely that it was not to be borne. Thereupon, to make a
diversion, she cried point-blank to her mother:
“I’ll have you know I won’t let my hair be cut off after the wedding!”
“Here’s a clever one for you! Who ever heard of a girl whose hair was
not shorn after the wedding?”
“At manors, and in towns.”
“Certainly. Yes, they—_they_ have to keep their hair, to cheat the folk,
and pass for what they are not.—Why would you bring in a new order of
things, you? Let the manor girls make laughing-stocks of themselves by
all means; let them go about, hairy as Jewesses. They are fools, and
they may. But you—no town rubbish, a daughter of the soil from grandsire
and greatgrandsire—you have to do as has ever been done amongst our
peasantry!—Ah, I know them, those town conceits and fancies!”
Yagna, however, stuck to her point. Eva, an experienced woman, who knew
many a village, and year after year went on foot to Chenstohova with the
pilgrim companies, tried her best to persuade the girl; so did
Yagustynka, though according to her way seasoning her advice with jests
and bitter railleries. At last she said:
“Keep your tresses, do; they will serve Boryna, when he beats you. He’ll
twist them round his hand, and so use his stick better upon you. And
then you will cut them off by yourself.... I knew a woman....” But here
she broke off. Vitek had come to call her. She was staying with Boryna
since Antek’s expulsion, Yuzka proving too young for a housekeeper. Now
helping Eva in the cooking, she would once in a while run round to the
house to see to things there, as the old man’s brain was topsyturvy that
day. Ever since morning, Yuzka had been at the blacksmith’s, smartening
herself; and Kuba lay continually ill in bed.
The lad had come in a hurry. “Kuba wants you sorely: pray come this
instant.”
“Off at once!—Good friends, I shall just see what it is, and be back
here directly.”
“Hurry, Yagna; we are expecting the bridesmaids,” said Dominikova
warningly.
But she made no haste at all, seemingly in a drowsy fit.... Her work
fell from her fingers, and she would stand sometimes gazing vacantly out
of window. Her soul was as though turned to water within her—water that
flowed hither and thither, and now and again splashed and broke on some
rock of memory.
In the cottage, the hubbub was ever increasing, with the constant
arrival of many a dame—now a kinswoman, now a housewife: these,
according to ancient custom, bringing Dominikova fowls, or a loaf of
wheaten bread, cake, salt, flour, pieces of bacon, or a silver rouble
wrapped up in paper—all these things as thank-offerings for the
invitation, and to make up for the heavy expenses incurred.
Each of them drank a little nip of sweetened vodka, chatted a few
minutes with the old dame, admired everything, and hurried away.
Dominikova herself superintended the cooking, cleared things away, and
saw that everything was duly done; not omitting to scold her sons for
laziness; and, indeed, they dawdled much, and each of them slipped out
whenever he could into the village to the Voyt’s, where the musicians
and the bridesmen had gathered already.
Few people attended High Mass, and this vexed his Reverence, because
folk had forgotten the Divine Service on account of a mere wedding.
Which was very true; but people also said to themselves that such a
wedding was not to be witnessed every Sunday.
All those invited came driving in at once after the noonday meal from
the neighbouring villages.
The sun, shedding a dim hazy splendour over the autumn fields, had begun
to roll westward; the ground seemed shiny and glistening as if with dew,
the pond shimmered tremulously, the roadside ditches had a glassy gleam;
the whole landscape was soaked in the dying light and the cooling heat
of the last autumn days.
Burning down like a candle, the day was slowly approaching extinction.
The village of Lipka, however, was inspired with all the animation of a
fair.
No sooner had the Vesper bells rung for the first time than all the
musicians at the Voyt’s sallied forth into the road.
First came the fiddlers, each marching abreast with a flutist; then the
bass-viol-players, and the drummers, to whose instruments there were
little bells attached: all adorned with flying ribbons, and advancing
with elastic steps.
After the musicians walked a troop of eight: the two “proposers,” who
had arranged the match, and the six bridesmen. These were all handsome
young fellows, slender as pine-trees, slim-waisted, broad-shouldered,
enthusiastic dancers, audacious of speech, fond of a fray, and great
sticklers for their rights: such were they all six, and all of good
families, pure farmer’s blood.
Together they marched, shoulder to shoulder, down the middle of the
road, the ground echoing under the tramping of their boots: with such
merry daredevil looks, and so gayly adorned, that they killed the whole
scene—a vision of striped trousers glancing in the sun, of scarlet
jackets, hats decked with bunches of floating ribbons, and white
capotes, open and flapping in the breeze like wings.
Uttering shrill cries, and humming joyful tunes, on they dashed,
tramping noisily in measure—a young pine-grove in motion and rushing
with the blast!
The musicians played polonaises, going from hut to hut to call the
wedding guests; here vodka was offered them, there they were asked in;
elsewhere a song would answer to their tunes; while on all sides the
folk came out, dressed in their best raiment, and went swelling the main
body. And under the windows of the bridesmaids all sang in unison the
following verse:
Lasses, lightly treading,
Come ye to the wedding—
Hear our gleeful tune!
Hear our voices’ chorus
Join with flute sonorous—
Hautboy and bassoon!
Let the tankard clink now:
Who is loth to drink now—
He’s a scurvy loon!
Oy ta dana dana,
Oy ta dana dana,
Oy ta dana da!
And then they shouted so loud that they could be heard throughout the
whole village, and beyond in the fields and the forests.
The folk had come out in front of their houses, into the orchards. Many
who had not been invited joined the party, merely to look on and listen;
so, before it had reached its destination, pretty nearly the whole
village was round them, pressing and surging on every side, while the
children ran on in front: a dense crowd, a swift and a noisy one.
Having brought the guests to the bridal cottage, playing them in with a
joyful strain, they returned to fetch the bridegroom.
Vitek, who, brave in his short jacket adorned with ribbons, had
accompanied the bridesmen, now ran fast before them.
“Master!” he cried through the window. “They are coming!” And off he ran
to where Kuba lay.
They played a good while there before the porch. Boryna came out
directly, threw the door wide open, and would have had them all in; but
the Voyt and the Soltys took him by each arm and led him straight away
to Yagna; for it was high time to go to church.
His gait was full of mettle, and he looked surprisingly young.
Clean-shaven, with hair newly cut, and his wedding-suit on, he made a
rarely handsome figure; besides which, portly and broad-shouldered as he
was, the dignified expression both of his features and his whole outer
man made him conspicuous from afar. He smiled and talked pleasantly with
the young men who had come; especially with the smith, who managed to be
always close to him.
They brought him in ceremony to Dominikova’s, where the crowd made place
for him; and, with tumultuous cries, and sounds of many instruments and
songs, he entered the cabin.
Yagna was as yet invisible: the women were arraying her in the inner
room, carefully watched and strongly bolted. For the young fellows
knocked and battered at the door; they cut narrow slits in the
partitions, and made careless jests with the bridesmaids: whereupon rose
great screaming, much laughter, and of old women’s scolding not less.
The old dame, with her sons, received the guests, offered vodka,
conducted the elders to the places reserved for them, and in short had
an eye to everything.
All the guests were of high condition: no common men, but only men of
property and of good family; and of these only the wealthiest. All were
connected with the Borynas and the Paches by ties of family and
friendship, or were at least acquaintances who had driven over from
distant villages.
None of your Klembas, or your Vincioreks, none of your one-acre
starvelings were there: nor any of the small fry that eked out their
existence by working for others, and were the closest adherents of old
Klemba!
“No dainties for dogs, and no honey for hogs,” says the adage!
Presently the door opened; and the organist’s wife and the miller’s
ushered Yagna into the big room. The bridesmaids formed a circle round
her—a wreath of human flowers they were, all so beautifully dressed and
so fair to see. And she—she stood in their midst, like a rose, the most
fearless of them all; with head-dress of plumes and ribbons and silver
and gold lace, she was like one of those images they carry in church
processions; and they all stood mute before her.
Ah! since the Mazur was first danced, no one was ever more splendid!
Then did the bridesmen lift up their voices, growling from the depths of
their throats:
Resound, O violin, resound!
(Yagna, now ask pardon of your mother!)
Resound, O flageolet, resound!
(Yagna, now ask pardon of each brother!)
Boryna came forward and took her hand. They both knelt, and Dominikova
made the sign of the cross over them with an image, and then sprinkled
them both with holy water. Yagna, bursting into tears, fell at her
mother’s knees, embracing them, and the other women’s too, as she begged
pardon and took leave of them all. The women gathered her into their
arms, passing her from one to another, and all wept much: Yuzka the
most, thinking of her dead mother.
They all formed up before the house and marched off on foot, for the
church was but one field away.
Then the bridesmen took possession of Yagna. She walked on with delight,
smiling through the tears which still trembled in her lashes. She now
was gay to see as a spring-blossoming bush, and riveted every eye. Her
hair, braided over her forehead, bore above it a rich pile of gold
spangles, and peacock’s eyes, and sprigs of rosemary. Therefrom, down to
her nape and shoulders, fell long ribbons of every hue; her white skirt
was gathered at the waist in abundant folds; her corsage, of sky-blue
velvet, was laced with silver; she wore great puffed sleeves to her
chemise. Round her throat there was an abundant frill, embroidered with
designs in dark-blue thread, and necklaces of coral and amber, row upon
row, hung covering half her bosom.
Matthias was being led by the bridesmaids.
As the stalwart oak may be seen rising behind the graceful pine in the
woods, so did he appear after Yagna’s figure. There was in his gait a
certain jaunty swing, and he shot glances on either side of the road: he
fancied he had beheld Antek in the ruck.
Following him came Dominikova, with the “proposers,” the smith and his
family, Yuzka, the miller’s and the organist’s people, and all the
persons of any note.
And following these came the whole village.
The sun was now hanging above the woods, red, enormous, flooding all the
road, and the pond, and the huts, with its blood-red glow.
In the midst of this crimson conflagration they walked on slowly. It
made the eyes blink to see them as they went—with ribbons and peacock
plumes and flowers; gay in red trousers, petticoats of orange tints,
rainbow kerchiefs, snowy capotes: just as if a whole field full of
flowers in bloom had arisen and moved forward, swaying in the wind!
Aye, and singing too! For again and again the high treble of the
bridesmaids’ voices would strike up the ditty:
On the clattering wagons go,
And my heart is full of woe,
Alas!
Round you while our songs rise glad,
You, O Yagna, you are sad,
Alas!
All the way, Dominikova was in tears, her eyes fixed upon Yagna alone.
Ambrose was already lighting the tapers in church when they came.
They formed in ranks—two and two—and proceeded toward the high altar,
just as the priest was coming out of the sacristy.
The wedding was soon over: his Reverence had to visit a sick man in
haste. When they left the church, the organist played them out with
Mazurs, Obertases, and Kuyavy dances, till their feet beat time of
themselves; and more than one was on the point of singing aloud, but
luckily remembered where he was.
They returned pell-mell, and very noisily, for bridesmen and bridesmaids
were singing together.
Dominikova got to her home first and, when the company arrived, was
there to welcome the newly married couple on her threshold, and offer
them the hallowed bread and salt; then she had to receive the whole
company a second time, embrace them all, and ask them in once more!
In the passage, the music was striking up. So, on passing the threshold,
everyone made a partner of the first woman he met, to perform the
stately polonaise that was being played. At once, like a many-coloured
serpent, a chain of couples, following each other about the room, waved
and twined, twisted and turned back decorously, struck the floor with
dignity, swayed to and fro in graceful undulation, placed, swam, wheeled
about, one after another in serried ranks, Boryna with Yagna leading
off!
The lights placed on the chimney penthouse flickered, and the very walls
seemed like to fall asunder with the forceful gravity of this solemn
dance, performed with such dignified grace.
This was the introduction, and lasted but some minutes. Then began the
first dance, in honour of the bride, and according to the usages and
customs of old days. All present squeezed themselves into corners, or
huddled against the walls; and the young men made a wide circle, within
which she danced. As she stepped out, she felt the blood tingling in her
veins; her dark-blue eyes shone; her white teeth gleamed; her face was
flushed; she danced persistently, and for a long time, for she was
obliged to give each partner at least one turn round the room, and dance
with all.
The musicians worked hard—worked till they felt worn out: but Yagna
seemed to have but just begun. The flush on her face deepened, she
turned and whirled more impetuously than ever; her ribbons fluttered and
rustled as she went by, lashing those near her on the cheek; and her
skirt, expanding to the streaming air, spread out and bellied wide
around her.
The young men, delighted, beat time on the tables, and shouted in eager
excitement.
It was only after all the others that she chose her bridegroom. Boryna,
who had been waiting so long, now leaped forward, pouncing on her like a
forest lynx, seized her waist, whirled her round like a hurricane, and
cried to the players:
“Now, boys, the Mazur—and with a will!”
All the instruments sounded with might and main; the whole room was in a
fever.
Holding Yagna in a strong grip, Boryna lifted the skirts of his capote
over each arm, settled his hat upon his head, clicked his heels
together, and set off, swift as the wind!
Ah! but how he danced! Now turning round and round, now with a backward
step, now bringing his foot down as if he would stamp the floor to
shivers—then sidling with Yagna, and sweeping her on, and whisking her
hither and thither, and whirling her so that they twain formed but one
indistinct mass, looking for all the world like a spindle full of yarn,
spinning about a room; and from each of them there came forth a full
blast of power and force.
Furiously, unceasingly, the players went on playing the Mazur dance!
The crowds in the corners and at the door looked on in silent wonder:
Boryna was so indefatigably active, and ever at higher and higher
pressure, that he instilled not a few with riotous boisterousness, even
to beating the measure with their feet; and some of the hottest heads,
no longer restrained by decorum, seized a girl and danced about with
her.
Yagna, though brawny and well-knit, soon had to give in; he felt her
weakening in his arms, and immediately ceased from dancing, and led her
to the inner room.
“What a splendid fellow you are!” the miller cried out. “Henceforth you
are my brother!—Ask me to be godfather at the first christening, I pray
you!” And he put his arm round Boryna’s neck. Soon they were on very
familiar terms, for the music had stopped and refreshments were handed
round.
Dominikova and her sons, with the smith and Yagustynka, now glided
swiftly about, bearing bottles and clusters of glasses, and drank with
each one. Yuzka and the friends of the old dame carried pieces of bread
and cake about in sieves to the guests.
And the tumult grew and increased.
On a bench near the window sat the miller, with Boryna, the Voyt, the
organist—all the notables in the place besides; and there a bottle of
rum—not of the worst—was circulating among them.
Many were also standing about the room in groups, talking loudly to
anyone they met, as they felt inclined; and the vodka glasses were in
requisition.
The inner room was lit by the organist’s great lamp, lent for the
occasion. The housewives, with the organist’s wife and the miller’s at
their head, had gathered there, and sat on chests and benches strewn
with pieces of woven wool. They held their heads up with great dignity,
sipped their mead by tiny droplets, crumbled the sweet cake with dainty
fingers, and very rarely threw in a word or two, but listened
attentively while the miller’s wife told them all about her children.
The very passages were quite full. Some tried to invade the other side;
but Eva drove them out. They proved too greedy for the dishes, the
appetizing scent of which had filled the house, and was making many a
mouth water.
The young people then dispersed all about the premises, in the yard and
the orchard. The night was chilly, but serene and starlit. Here they
strolled, disporting themselves in merry guise; and all the place echoed
with laughter, shouts, and running to and fro, one chasing another among
the trees. So the elders cried a warning to them from the window:
“Are ye seeking flowers by night, girls?—Beware lest ye lose what is
more than any flower!”
But who paid heed to them?
Yagna and Nastusia were now walking about the big room, their arms round
each other’s waists, whispering together, and ever and anon bursting
into laughter. Simon, Dominikova’s eldest son, was watching them, with
eyes glued to Nastusia, and frequently going to her with vodka and
attempting conversation.
The blacksmith had dressed up most grandly, having on a black capote,
and trousers over which the boots were drawn. He slipped about with
great activity, was everywhere, drank with everybody, walked to and fro
and talked; and his red head and freckled face were never long on the
same spot.
The young people danced several times, but not long, nor with much
animation. They were looking forward to the supper.
The old men, on their side, were deep in debate, the Voyt raising his
voice higher and higher, striking the table with his fist, and laying
down the law:
“I, the Voyt, have said it: you may take it from me. I, a man in office,
have received a paper commanding me to call a meeting, and order half a
kopek per acre to be voted by every landowner for educational purposes.”
“You, Peter, may vote even five kopeks an acre if you like: we won’t!”
“No, that we will not!” one of the men roared.
“But I am making you a statement as an official!”
“We do not care for such schools as those,” Boryna remarked; and the
others assented in chorus.[21]
-----
Footnote 21:
The reader should bear in mind that this book was published before the
War, when only schools where Russian was taught were permitted by the
government, and Polish was not learned except in secret.—_Translator’s
Note._
“In Vola,” said one, “there is a school which my children attended for
three winters running. What is the result? They cannot even read in a
prayer-book.—Devil take such teaching!”
“Let the mothers teach prayers at home; prayers have naught to do with
studies. I, the Voyt, tell you this!”
“Then what are schools for?” grumbled the man from Vola, rising.
“I will tell you, I the Voyt: but listen....”
Here he was interrupted by Simon, who cried aloud to them all that the
trees of the clearing sold to the Jews had already been branded by them,
and that they would have them cut down as soon as the sledges could run.
“Brand the trees they may: to fell them will be harder!” Boryna put in.
“We shall complain to the commissary.”
“Who is hand in glove with the Squire?—No: let us go in a body and drive
the woodmen off.”
“They shall not hew down one single sapling!”
“Matthias, drink to me! Now is no time for holding councils. A tipsy man
will even defy God!” So cried the miller, filling Boryna’s glass. The
talk was as little to his taste as the threats were; for he had an
agreement drawn up with the Jews, and the trees were to go to his
sawmill.
They drank and left their places; the tables were now to be laid for
supper, and all the needful things were being brought in.
The farmers, however, still stuck to their forest grievance, which was a
great wrong done to them. They formed a group, and with lowered voices
(so that the miller might not overhear them) determined to thresh the
matter out at Boryna’s.
At this juncture, Ambrose came in, and went straight to them. He had
come late, having had to go with his Reverence to a sick person three
villages away, in Krosnova. So now he set to drink energetically, to
make up for lost time. Vainly: for at that very moment a chorus of
elderly women struck up the song:
Bridesmen, about, about! With you it rests
Round the spread tables now to bring the guests!
To which they replied, having given the signal by striking on the
benches:
Lo, we have called them: they are ready here
Your spread to taste, if it be but good cheer.
The guests, now straggling in to table, took their seats on the benches.
The newly married couple had the first places, and all the others sat
about them in order of precedence, as they were higher in standing, in
possessions, or more advanced in age—from the elders to the girls and
children. Tables had been set up along three of the walls, and yet there
was scarce room for them all. The bridesmen and the musicians remained
standing, the former to serve the guests.
There was a hush. The organist stood up and said a prayer aloud; after
which, a glass went round, with the sentiment: Health and enjoyment!
The cooks and bridesmen then bore in a huge and deep dish of smoking
food, singing the while:
Friends, we bring you dainty food:
Fowls in rice-soup boiled and stewed!
And, carrying in the second dish:
Tripe with pepper, spiced and hot:
He’s a fool that likes it not!
The musicians, stationed near the fire-place, played various tunes very
softly, to give more savour to the food.
All the company ate with becoming refinement, and deliberation; few
spoke at all, and for some time the room resounded only with the sound
of munching and the clatter of spoons. When they had to some extent
slaked their appetites, the smith set another bottle in circulation; and
now they began conversing (though in low tones) to one another across
the table.
Yagna ate scarcely anything at all. In vain did Boryna urge and coax
her, entreating her as one entreats a child to eat. She could not even
swallow the meat before her; she was so hot, so tired!
“Yagna, are you content, sweet? Most beautiful Yagna, you will be as
happy with me as ever you were with your mother.... Yagna, you will be a
lady—a lady! I’ll hire a girl, that you may not be overworked.”—He spoke
in hushed tones, and looking with love into her eyes, caring not for
what folk might say; and they began to make fun of him openly.
“He looks like a cat after bacon!”
“How the old fellow flaunts his wantonness! Beside him, a cock is
nothing at all.”
“Oh, he is enjoying himself, Grandfather Boryna is!”
“As a dog does out in the frost,” old Simon here muttered spitefully.
All held their sides with laughter, and the miller laid his face down on
the table and beat it with his fists for sheer joy!
Once more the cooks entered, proclaiming:
Here is a dish of Turkish wheat,
Cooked with plenty of lard, for lean folk to eat!
“Yagna, just bend over to me, I’ll tell you a thing,” the Voyt said,
plucking at her dress behind her bridegroom, whose next neighbour he
was.
“I would be your child’s godfather,” he cried, laughing, and gloating
over her with greedy eyes.
At this, she grew very red; and the women, seeing this, fell a-laughing
and jesting yet more facetiously, some setting to explain to her how she
ought to behave to her husband.
“You’ll have to warm a feather-bed for him every evening before the
fire, or he’ll be cold as ice.”
“And especially see he has much fat to eat: it will keep him in good
condition.”
“And pet him well, with your arms round his neck.”
“And drive him with a gentle hand, that he may not know he is driven at
all!”
So they babbled on, each sentence freer than the last, as happens when
women have taken too much, and let their tongues run away with them.
All in the room were shaking with merriment, and things at last went so
far that the miller’s wife set to lecturing them on their duties towards
the girls and little ones present; and the organist pointed out how
grievous a sin it was to cause others to offend by evil example.
“What? is this bellows-blower forbidding people every pleasure in life?”
“Being close to the priest, he thinks himself a saint!”
“Let him stop his ears, an it like him not.” And more unpleasant cries
began to be heard, for he was disliked in the village.
“We have a wedding to-day, and therefore, my good people, I, your Voyt,
assure you it is no sin to enjoy yourselves, laugh at things laughable,
and make merry.”
“And our Lord Himself used to go to weddings and drink wine,” Ambrose
added seriously; but no one made out what he said, as he was now tipsy,
and sitting by the door besides. Then all fell to talking, joking,
clinking glasses, and eating more and more slowly, in order to get more
compactly filled up; some even, to make room for the most food possible,
undid their girdles, and sat straight and stiff.
Again the cooks entered, with the following couplet:
It grunting, squealing, rooting once about the garden ran:
But now, for all the harm it did, ’twill pay the husbandman!
“Well, they have done the thing grandly!” the people declared.
“Truly, this wedding must come at least to a thousand _zloty_!”
“Oh, she can well afford it: has she not got six acres of land thereby?”
“Just look at Yagna! Is she not gloomy as night?”
“As a set-off, Boryna’s eyes are shining like a wildcat’s.”
“Say, like tinder, my friend—rotten tinder!”
“Aye, the man will weep over this day yet.”
“No. He is not of the weeping sort. Of the cudgelling, rather.”
“Just what I said to the Voyt’s wife, when she told me the marriage had
been settled.”
“Ah, I wonder why she is not here to-night.”
“Out of the question. Her child may be due any day.”
“But I’d lay my head that in no long time—say, before the Carnival
begins—Yagna will be again running after the lads.”
“Matthew is only waiting for that.”
“I know. Vavrek’s wife overheard him say so in the tavern.”
“Because he was not asked to the wedding.”
“Yes. The old fellow would have had him, but Dominikova was against
it.—All the folk know why, do they not?”
“Well, all say so; but what has anybody seen?”
“Bartek Koziol saw them in the wood last spring.”
“He is a liar and a thief: Dominikova accused him of stealing a pig, and
what he says may be mere spite.”
“But others too—there be others that have eyes.”
“All this will end ill ... you will see. ’Tis no affair of mine, but to
my mind, Antek and his family have been unjustly dealt with.”
“Of Antek, too, people talk—say they have been seen together here and
there.”—The voices dropped lower as the spiteful talk went on, leaving
no shred of reputation on any of the family, and the more unmerciful for
their hostess as they had more pity for her two sons.
“Is’t not a sin?—Simon, a man wearing mustachios—thirty, if a day—and
she will not let him marry, nor leave the house: and for the slight
fault she raises a tempest!”
“It is indeed a shame: such strapping lads, and doing all the woman’s
work!”
“So that Yagna, forsooth, may not soil her hands!”
“Each of them has five acres of his own, and might marry at his ease!”
“With so many unmarried girls around them!”
“Yes, yes; your own poor Martianna, waiting for ages, and the land quite
close by Paches’!”
“You let her alone! See rather to your girl Franka, lest she come to
grief with Adam!”
“Those great oafs!—Afraid to leave their mother’s apron-strings!”
“They are beginning: Simon has been all the evening staring at Nastka.”
“Their father was of the like mould: I remember well.—Aye, and the old
woman was in her time no better than Yagna.”
“As the root is, so the boughs; as the mother, so the daughter.”
The music ceased, and, supper being over, the musicians went to refresh
themselves in the kitchen. But after a time the noise waxed even louder
than before, and the whole place seethed with uproar: all talking,
ranting, shouting away one to the other across the tables, and no one
able to make out what was said.
At the close of the meal, the most select guests were offered a drink
compounded of mead and spices, while the others got strong vodka and
beer in abundance.
By this time, but few were well aware of what they were drinking, being
too far gone and in a blissful state. They made themselves comfortable,
and unbuttoned their capotes to be cooler; beat the tables with their
fists till the dishes jingled, embraced each other, either round the
neck or clutching at the shirt-collar; and they talked freely,
unbosoming themselves and telling all their sorrows as if they had been
brothers.
“’Tis ill living here on earth! Things are out of gear with mankind, and
we have naught but grief!”
“Aye, men are like dogs, snapping at one another for a bone.”
“No consolation, save when neighbour meets neighbour over a glass, and
they take counsel, and make complaint; and if any has wronged or been
wronged, he is forgiven and forgives!”
“As even now, at this wedding-feast: but, ah! for one day only!”
“Ah! To-morrow will come, though we call him not! You’ll not shun him,
save in God’s hallowed Acre.... Yea, he will come and seize you, and lay
on you his yoke, and smite you with the whip of poverty; and you, O man!
must pull ... even till the yoke be bloodstained.”
“What is’t aggravates our misery, setting men one against the other,
like dogs quarrelling for a fleshless bone?”
“Not poverty alone, but an Evil Power; and they then are blinded by him,
discerning not good from evil.”
“Truly so; and he bloweth upon our souls as one bloweth on half-quenched
embers; and he causeth greed, malice, and all wickedness to burst out
into flame!”
“Yes; for he that is deaf to the commandments hath a quick ear for the
music played in hell.”
“It was otherwise of old days.—Then was there obedience, and respect for
old men, and concord.”
“And each man had land, as much as he could till; and pastures, and
meadows, and the forest.”
“Who in those days ever heard of taxes?”
“Or was there anyone that purchased timber? He had but to drive to the
wood and take all he needed, though it were the best pine or oak. The
property of the Squire was the peasants’ property too.”
“And now it belongs to neither, but to the Jews, or to men still worse.”
“The foul carrion! (I have drunk to you: drink you to me!...) They are
now established as on land of their own! (Your health, Brother!) ... To
drink vodka is not a sin, if only at the proper season and with
brothers: this is a wholesome thing, it cleanses the blood and drives
away distempers.”
“Who drinks at all, should drink one quart complete—likewise, who makes
merry, should do it all Sunday long.—But have you work to do? Man, do it
with all your might, grudge not your force, but put forth all your
strength. And if ill things come to pass—if your wife be taken, if your
cattle die, or your home burn down—why, ’tis the will of God. Do not
rebel: what will it avail you to lament, poor creature as you are? Be
patient, therefore; trust in God’s mercy. Aye, and if the worst should
hap, and should grim Crossbones stare you in the face and clutch your
throat, attempt not to escape, which is more than you can do; all is in
the hand of God!”
“Verily, who is to know the day when the Lord shall declare: ‘Thus far,
O man, is thine: what is beyond is mine?’”
“It is so of a truth. As lightning flashes, so are the decrees of God:
and none, be he a priest, be he a sage, can know them till they fall, as
ripe corn falls out of the ear.”
“Man, you have to know but one thing—to do your duty, live as God
commands you, and not look too far ahead.—Surely our Lord prepares the
wages of His servants, and pays most strictly what is due to each.”
“By these laws did the Polish people stand of old, and they are for ever
and ever, Amen.”
“Aye, and by patience shall we prevail against the gates of hell.”
Thus they discoursed together, with not infrequent libations, everything
pouring out all he felt in his heart, all that had long stuck in his
throat and stifled him. Ambrose talked the most of all and the loudest.
At the very end, Eva and Yagustynka came in with great ceremony, bearing
in front of them a large ladle, tricked out and beribboned. A musician
who followed accompanied them on his fiddle, while they sang:
Ere you quit us, here come we;
’Fore you both your cooks you see:
Pray forget us not, good men:
For each dish give stivers three;
For our seasoning stivers ten!
The company had eaten plentifully, and drunk yet more; their hearts were
warmed by good cheer, and many a man tossed even silver coins into the
ladle as it passed.
They then slowly rose from table, and went out, some to breathe the
fresh air, some to resume their conversation in the passages or in the
great room; some gave way to enthusiastic demonstrations of friendship;
and more than one reeled about, running his head against the walls or
some other man, butting like rams.
Only the Voyt remained at the board with the miller, both quarrelling
with intense fury, and about to fly at each other like two hawks, when
Ambrose came to reconcile them, offering more vodka.
“Back to your church porch, old beggar,” the Voyt snarled at him, “and
hold yourself aloof from your betters.”
So Ambrose walked off in dudgeon, hugging the bottle to his breast,
stumping noisily and seeking someone to drink and talk with as a friend.
The young people had dispersed about the orchard, or were walking
arm-in-arm along the road, with much horse-play, and chasing of one
another, and shouting. The night was serene; the moon hung over the
pond, which glittered so bright that the feeblest circles tremulous on
its surface were distinctly visible, moving like snake-coils in silence,
responsive (as it seemed) to the light that struck on them from above.
The frost was pretty hard, the road-ruts were crisp underfoot, the roofs
rime-crusted and hoary. It was in the small hours, for the first
cock-crow had already been heard.
Meanwhile they set the great room in order for dancing again.
Rested and refreshed, the players now again, in subdued strains, called
the guests together.
Yagna had been taken to the private room by the matrons, Boryna sat with
Dominikova close to the door, the elders took seats on benches and in
corners, where they discussed various matters, and only the girls stood
about the room besides, giggling together: a pastime which soon tired
them, and they decided on starting some games, “to stir the boys up a
little.”
First there was the game, “Fox goes out to make his round; both his
hands and feet are bound.”
Yasyek, nicknamed Topsy-turvy, was dressed up as Fox, in his sheepskin
turned inside out. He was a silly fellow, a simpleton, and the
laughing-stock of them all. Though a full-grown man, he played with
children, and was in love with all the girls and foolish beyond measure:
but, being an only child with ten acres of his own, he was invited
everywhere. Yuzka Boryna was his quarry, the Hare. And they laughed;
Lord, how they laughed!
At every step, Yasyek stumbled and fell down, sprawling, with a thud
like a log. The others, too, put out their feet to make him fall; and
Yuzka got out of his way with perfect ease: she sat up quite as a hare
does, and imitated to perfection the way its lips move.
Then came “Quails.”
Nastka was leader, and so nimble that no one could catch her till she
let them (in order to dance a measure with someone).
Finally, Tomek Vahnik was made up for a Stork, having a sheet over his
head and a long stick which he held under it for beak; and he
clack-clack-clacked like a real stork, so well that Yuzka, Vitek, and
all the youngsters ran after him, calling (as they do to the live bird):
Klek, Klek, Klell!
Thy mother’s in hell!
What does she there?
Cook children’s fare!
What was her sin?
That her little ones’ bellies had nothing in!
And the hullabaloo was great; for he ran after them, and pecked with his
beak, and flapped his wings violently.
These games lasted but an hour, when they had to make way for other
observances.
Now the married women brought Yagna out of the private room, covered all
over in a white wrapper, and seated her in the centre, on a
kneading-trough on which a feather-bed had been put. The bridesmaids
thereupon rushed forward as though to snatch her away, but the men kept
them off: and at last they formed a group opposite, intoning a sad and
plaintive chant:
Where is your wreath, oh, where
Your bridal wreath so fair?
Henceforth, to man’s will bowed,
A cap, your locks to shroud,
You on your head must bear!
The matrons then uncovered her.
She was seen wearing the cap of the married women over the thick plaits
of her tresses; yet in this disguise she appeared still more fascinating
than before.
To the slow strains of the band, the whole assembly, young and old,
struck up the “Hop-Song” in one grand unison of gladness. This ended,
she was taken over by the matrons alone, to dance with them....
Yagustynka, by this time much heated, set her arms akimbo, and flung
this impromptu verse at her:
Oh! had I known this day would see
My Yagna wed a widower,
A wreath I would have woven thee
Of naught but prickly juniper!
After which came others, yet more biting than the first.
But little note was taken of them; for the musicians had struck up for
the greatest performance of all; and forward now came the dancers, and
the trampling of many feet was heard. They crowded thickly, couple close
to couple, cheek by jowl, moving ever more swiftly as the dance went on.
Capotes flew open and flapped wide, heels stamped, hats waved—now and
then a snatch of song burst forth—the girls hummed the burden, “da
dana,” and tore on more quickly still, and swayed in measure in the
mighty, swirling, headlong rush! No one could any longer distinguish his
neighbour in the throng; and when the violins burst forth in quick sharp
volleys of clean-cut separate notes, a hundred feet echoed on the floor
at once, a hundred mouths gave tongue, a hundred dancers, seized as by a
cyclone, whirled round and round; and the rustling of capotes, skirts,
kerchiefs waving about the room, was like the flight of a flock of
many-coloured birds. On they went, on continually—dancing without the
slightest pause for breath, the floor clattering like a drum, the walls
vibrating, the room a seething cauldron. And the rapture of the dance
waxed greater, greater yet.
Then came the moment to perform rites which are always gone through when
the bride puts aside her crown of rosemary.
First, Yagna had to pay toll, on entering the matrons’ set!
Immediately afterwards, another ceremony was gone through. The men had a
long rope, woven of the straw of unthreshed wheat, of which they made a
large ring, carefully held and guarded by the bridesmaids, Yagna
standing up in the middle. Whoever wished to dance with her was obliged
to creep under it, tear her away by force, and tread a measure, though
they scourged him all the time with cords, wherever they could. Finally,
the miller’s wife and Vachnikova made a collection, for “The Cap.” The
Voyt came first; he tossed a gold piece into the plate; after that,
silver roubles tinkled like hail; lastly, paper ones, as leaves in
autumn.
More than three hundred roubles were thus collected!
Dominikova, quite overcome to see so large a sum offered for Yagna’s
sake, told her sons to bring more vodka, with which she herself pledged
her hosts, kissing her friends and weeping at their great kindness.
“Drink, my good neighbours, drink, dear friends, beloved brothers of
mine.... I feel spring back in my heart again...! Yagna’s health ...
drink once more ... once more....” And when she gave over, the smith
drank with others, and her sons too, each separately; for the throng was
very thick. Yagna too, thanking them heartily for their kindness,
embraced the knees of the elders present.
The room was humming, the glasses circulating freely from hand to hand;
everyone exhaled ardour and joy. Faces were crimson, eyes resplendent;
hearts went out to hearts. They stood in knots about the room, drinking
and talking blithely, each saying his say very loud, unheard by any, but
not caring for that!—All felt at one; one joy united and penetrated them
all! “Ye that have troubles, leave them for the morrow; take your fling
to-night: enjoy friendly company, solace your soul! Our hallowed land,
its summer spell of fruit-bearing over, is given rest by the Lord: even
so is it meet that men should rest in autumn, when their field-work is
done. Man, that have your cornstacks piled and your granaries full of
grain worth heaps of precious gold—rest you now from summer labour and
toil gone by!”
So spake some, while others again revolved in their minds their troubles
and their griefs.
To neither of these classes did Boryna belong. His eyes saw only Yagna,
his heart swelling and throbbing with the pride of her beauty. Again and
again would he throw _zloty_ to the musicians, that they might not spare
catgut: for the sounds were growing weak, as their zeal was flagging.
On a sudden, then, they thundered out an Obertas that made one quiver to
the backbone. Boryna leaped to Yagna’s side, caught her in a mighty
grasp, and at once started such a dance as shook the planks beneath
them. He wafted her down the room—back again—clanged on the floor with
his horseshoe heels—knelt suddenly to her, and sprung up again in a
flash—bore her about from wall to wall—roared out a solo which the
instruments took up and accompanied, and still led the dance, while
other couples imitated him, leaping, singing, stamping, and all with
ever-increasing rapidity: as if as many spindles full of particoloured
wools were together on the floor, turning, twisting, twirling, faster
than the eyes could make out their hues; so that no one could discern
lad from lass in the swift rush—only rainbow masses, flying about,
driven as by a goal, with ever-changing tints, turning always with
greater and more impetuous speed! At times the rush of air even blew out
the candles: the music went on in the dark, and the dance as well, lit
by the faint white beams of the moon shining in through the window.
Then, athwart the seething dimness, were seen quick shadows, flying
fast, chasing one another in the mingled darkness and silvery mist;
foaming waves of pale glimmering and melodious din surged up out of the
black night, in dusky harmonies of colour and sound—as in a vision or a
dream—fading back into impenetrable murk, to loom once more distinct
against the pallid wall, from which the glazed images of the saints
reflected the moonbeams with crinkled flickers: and again they plunged
and vanished into the shadows, and only the sounds of heavy breathing,
and quick steps and cries, made their presence vaguely known in the
entangled confusion of the unlit room!
One dance followed another in rapid succession, and with no interval
between them. As each new dance was struck up, new dancers directly
sprang forward, erect as a forest, swift of advance as a gale of wind;
and loudly the stamping feet thundered afar, and shouts of merriment
echoed through the house, while the onset went on, wild, mad, stormy,
and earnest as a struggle for life and death!
Ah! how they danced!
Those Cracoviennes, with their frolicsome hop-skip-and-jump measures,
and the quick lilt of their clean-cut, tinkling, metallic tunes; and the
terse ditties, full of fun and freedom, with which, like the spangled
girdles of the peasantry who made them, they are so brightly
studded—those tunes welling with joyous dashing melody, redolent of the
strong, abounding, audacious savour of youth in sportful pursuit of the
sweet thrilling emotions that tell of the hey-day in the blood!
And those Mazurs, long-drawn-out as the paths which streak the endless
plains, wind-clamorous and vast as the endless plains they streak:
lowly, yet heaven-kissing; melancholy and bold, magnificent and sombre,
stately and fierce: genial, warlike, full of discordances, like that
peasants’ nature, set in battle array, united as a forest and rushing to
dance with such joyful clamours and wonderful strength as could attack
and overcome ten times their number, nay, conquer, sweep away, trample
down, the whole of a hostile world, nor reck though they themselves be
doomed, and fall, but still carry on the dance after death, still
stamping as in the Mazur—still crying out aloud: “Oy dana dana!”
And oh, those Obertases!—short of rhythm, vertiginous, wild and frantic,
warlike and amorous, full of excitement mingled with dreamy languor and
notes of sorrow; throbbing with hot blood, brimming over with geniality
and kindliness, in a sudden hailstorm: affectionate voices, dark-blue
glances, springtime breezes, and fragrant wafts from blossoming
orchards, like the song of fields in the young year; making tears and
laughter to burst forth at the same time, and the heart to utter its lay
of joy, and the longing soul to go beyond the vast fields around her,
beyond the far-off forests, and soar dreaming into the world of All
Things, and sing ecstatically the burden, “Oy dana dana!”
And all these dances, beyond the power of words to describe, thus
followed one after the other, that our peasantry might make merry in
season!
And thus did they take their pleasures at the wedding of Boryna and
Yagna.
The hours slipped away in clamour and din and uproar; in noisy
merry-making and dances fast and furious: they did not note that the
dawn was spreading in the East, that the daybreak’s streams were slowly
pouring their pallor into the night’s black gloom. The stars grew wan,
the moon sank; a wind that sprang up beyond the woods passed by, chasing
the dark that waxed thinner and thinner: the gnarled tufted trees looked
in at the windows, bowing yet lower their slumberous frost-crowned
heads, but the folk within were singing and dancing still!
The doors had been thrown wide open; so had the windows; the house,
brimming and boiling over with lights and tumult, trembled, creaked and
groaned, while the dance went on, now in utterly uncontrollable and
rapturous excitement. It seemed to those within—such was their
state!—that trees and people, earth and stars, and the hedges and the
time-honoured cabin itself, were all wrestling and writhing together,
united in one inextricably whirling cluster, blind, intoxicated, raving,
and in utter oblivion of all; reeling and rolling from room to room,
from wall to wall, from passage to passage, and out into the road and
the enormous world, caught in a round that filled the universe—fading
away in the long unbroken chain of crimson lights now glowing in the
East!
And the music led them on—the tunes played and the songs.
How they kept time in their growling, the gruff bass-viols, uttering
their broken humming sounds, like huge humble-bees! And how the flutes
led the band, merrily whistling and twittering, as in mockery of the
drum’s joyful thuds and strokes, swelled by the jingling of its bells
that shook with laughter, and floated lightly like a Jew’s beard in the
wind! And then how the fiddles took the lead and came to the front, like
girls leading the ballet, and sang out loud and shrill at first as
though to try their voices—then played with wide, sorrowful,
heart-rending sweeps of the bow—the lamentations of orphans driven from
their homes—and then again, with an instantaneous change, fell into a
lilting tune—short, trilling, sharp, like the tripping of a hundred
dancers’ heels, at which a hundred full-throated lads shouted themselves
out of breath, and quivered all over, and set once more to turn and sing
and dance mincingly, laughing and rejoicing, heat rising anew to the
head and desire to the heart, lie strong vodka ... when they fell again
into the slow long notes of sorrow and weeping—as dew upon the
plains!—uttering the notes of our own beloved tune, most near to the
heart, instinct with mighty yearning tenderness, and making all dance
deliriously to the strains of our Mazovian air!
* * * * *
The candles were growing dim, so near was the day; a dingy ashen
twilight pervaded the room where they danced. But they still took their
enjoyment as heartily as ever. If any found the liquor now flowing too
scantily, he sent to the tavern for more vodka, sought out companions,
and drank with them to his liking.
Some had withdrawn; some were tired and resting awhile; some, overtaken
by drink, were sleeping off its fumes in the passage or by the door:
others, still more intoxicated, were stretched under the hedges. All the
rest danced on, danced ever.
At last, some of the more sober made up a group by the porch and,
beating the floor in measure, sang thus:
O wedding-guests, come home!
Already sings the lark;
The wood is deep and dark,
And ye have far to roam:
Come home!
O wedding-guests, come home!
There’s danger in delay:
Athwart our weary way
The loud floods roll and foam:
Come home!
But no one cared to listen to them and their song!