and thus was wrought imperceptibly one of the miracles of life. The
master learned and developed along with his pupil. Will had enlarged
and softened his heart; feeling had elevated and enlightened his mind.
In seeking for the true and the good for his child, Iermola had found
them for himself; the chilled, sleeping, half-dead seed had produced
fruit, late, but excellent and fine.
The old man, wishing to instruct the child, had been obliged first to
learn himself; he had studied, compared, reflected, meditated, prayed,
and he had finally learned by the power of love what is rarely
accomplished by wit and reason. He knew but little, it is true; but
that little was a great deal. The child knew how to read, and read no
book but the Bible.
Here it was that he found nourishment, from the healthful source of
life.
Besides, the old man, who feared constantly that he might die and leave
Radionek entirely orphaned, had taken care to teach him his trade as
soon as he had acquired some skill and quickness, and to make him fully
acquainted with all the little secrets of his daily work, the knowledge
of which gives a man independence and teaches him to depend upon
himself. Our peasants are still in that stage of barbarism which
belongs to half-civilized people, and which gives them a certain
superiority over civilized races, enabling them to supply all their own
wants. Even a very young villager knows how to do a great many things.
Every day he is obliged to try his skill in some way; he is at once
farm-hand, carpenter, miller, architect, mason, dyer, weaver, and in
almost any case of urgent necessity he easily succeeds in doing what is
needed.
Among people living in a state of higher civilization and bound
together by joint responsibility, the case is quite different. Such a
mode of living reduces them to real inferiority; the English emigrants
who settle as colonists in new countries almost all succumb to the
difficulties of a life which is unendurable to them. Not only in large
cities, but even in the villages, the necessaries of life can all be
bought ready-made, and consequently each one knows only one trade; all
necessities can be obtained by exchange. It is true that in this way
each particular article is skilfully manufactured and sold cheaply, and
a profit is made by exchange. We cannot, however, recognize as healthy
and beneficial the result of civilization in the exclusive employment
of the faculties of man, which in time transforms him into a sort of
machine, and if he is thrown out of his place, in the end renders him
useless, as a wheel cast from the axle. This evil is only the fatal
consequence of the imprudent and excessive division of labour, which
offers great advantages doubtless, but which, carried to an extreme,
presents great dangers. In this respect our nation is not yet subject
to the prejudices which in the West exercise such a baleful influence.
Iermola, like every peasant of his time, knew therefore a great many
things which he had learned in the business and events of ordinary
life; and if he did not place these things in the honourable rank of
attainments, they nevertheless constituted for him an inestimable
treasure.
A potter by trade, and a very skilful potter, he was at the same
time a tolerable fisherman, having learned, at first for his own
amusement, to use the netting-needle and to set weirs. He used the axe
skilfully, was not unacquainted with the different sorts of work
necessary in a mill, was an excellent teamster, and knew a great many
things in connection with out-of-door work which are usually known only
by regular farm-hands.
While the child, during these ten years, had grown wonderfully and
become much handsomer, our good Iermola had grown very little older;
there was scarcely any noticeable change in his appearance. He stooped
perhaps a little more; and sometimes his limbs were stiffer and more
weary. He still devoted himself constantly to his adopted son, and
worked in his pottery; and this continual activity kept up his courage
and strength. One of the most important secrets of the higher knowledge
of life--which unfortunately is not learned from the lips of a
master--is a healthful and constant employment. Many old men have
prematurely given up life, which they might have sensibly prolonged if
they had not allowed the fire to grow cold and die out. In the
laborious life of peasants all the hours of the day are occupied; the
body does not languish in weak repose; motion strengthens and preserves
it. With us, very often intellectual languor and idle effeminacy kill
the body, formed to move and act; the unused organs fall into a sort of
atrophy; the intellectual faculties even, reduced to inaction, wear out
and are destroyed; we sleep and sleep, and finally we cannot waken.
Iermola, on the contrary, lived a life of labour and motion;
consequently he did not seem to grow old, he at most only faded.
In fact, the manufacture of his pottery was not very laborious, neither
were the household duties which devolved upon him; Radionek and Huluk
spared him all the most tiresome work. But his life was not an idle
one; and he did not give up a single hour more to rest during the day
under pretexts of fatigue or great old age.
The deep peace which reigned in his mind and heart contributed
wonderfully toward preserving him in such a healthy and happy
condition. He could not even imagine that any one would some day come
and demand the child of him, and have the right to take him away. A few
years more and he would see Radionek, his darling child, a man,
comfortably settled, married, no longer needing help, flying with his
own wings. The trade in pottery increased daily. Old Procope had died a
few years after Iermola had ended his apprenticeship with him; and his
pottery kiln, managed by a young servant, had yielded only more and
more indifferent articles till it had finally fallen entirely into
disuse.
But Iermola had no need of this favourable circumstance to dispose of
his pottery, for which there was always an excellent market; but he was
none the less well pleased to find that the town of Malyczki was
henceforth supplied from Popielnia. Moreover, the vessels made from his
excellent clay were so solid and so light, had, in fact, so many
attractive qualities, that it was not necessary to recommend them very
much; it was not even necessary to carry them very far, but only to the
little neighbouring town, where the Jews and hawkers bought them up at
once. The potters in the vicinity made only extremely fragile ware, of
a dark, heavy sort of clay; consequently, as soon as white pottery was
put upon the market, there was a rush for it, and it sold for much
better prices than the other.
Iermola made only pots and dishes and housekeeping utensils of
different sizes, shaping them always after the long-used models, and
never thought of inventing other forms; but Radionek, who had now grown
to be quite a big boy and was becoming every day more active,
inquiring, and mischievous, began to weary of turning and burning
perpetually the same vessels of the same old-fashioned shape. At first
he began to vary the stripes and the red festoons which are always
found on the pottery of the country; he amused himself by getting up
new and more complicated and elegant designs, which he constantly
altered. Then he took it into his head to give new and less simple
forms to his dishes,--to make plates, pitchers, and little twin vases,
of a quite new curve and design. Finally, he undertook to manufacture
clay toys for children, and even small figures of horses, which also
served as whistles, thus carrying out without knowing it the old Hindoo
tradition; for in the old Indian land small horses made of baked clay
are still used as talismans in the fields and gardens. All his
playthings were badly baked and not very successful; but the old man
had not the heart to forbid his dear Radionek such childish amusements.
When for the first time all these new shapes and designs of pottery
ware were taken to the fair and displayed in the market, the good women
gathered round them and shook their heads long and gravely. Such
novelties frightened them and seemed useless; they were accustomed only
to the old sizes and shapes, and severely criticised these innovations.
But these little fancy articles, being cheap and amusing, pleased the
children and young girls; the rich villagers bought for their children
the little horses and twin vases instead of _obwarzanki_[6] and honey
cakes; and by the time the fair was over, the whole supply was well
sold. Iermola, highly delighted, smiled as he stooped down and kissed
Radionek's forehead; and the boy clapped his hands, jumped up, and
threw his arms around Iermola's neck.
But at this same fair our Radionek spied some glazed porringers and
plates, some saucepans which were of a beautiful green colour inside,
and other utensils ornamented with a brilliant vitreous glazing which
Iermola and he did not know how to give to their wares; and the boy
began to feel anxious and somewhat envious.
They returned home; Radionek was quite gloomy.
"What is the matter? Should you not, on the contrary, be rejoicing?"
said Iermola to him. "Your little designs have been successful beyond
your expectations; why are you making yourself miserable, my child?"
The child looked up at him and embraced him in silence. "See here,
father," said he, after a moment, "when I think of all those beautiful
glazed things, I cannot sleep."
"Those glazed things? You wish to make some like them? And what good
would that do? Our wares, such as they are, sell well, thank God! In
order to make glazed dishes, you must have another kind of clay, and
work it in another way, and perhaps use other implements; that would
give us a great deal of trouble. Why bother our heads with it all?"
"But, father, you did not see how much the merchants charged for their
glazed porringers. And how beautiful they were, all painted with
different-coloured flowers, and so solid and neat-looking! The people
said that nothing one might put into them would stain them, as is the
case with other kinds, and also that it is much less trouble to keep
them clean. Now, father, why should not we make them also?"
"Good Lord! what sort of an idea have you taken into your head?" cried
Iermola, with a sigh, for he was content with his present life, and
desired no other. "You do not know, my child, how difficult it is. As
for me, it is too late for me to learn new things; and for you, it is
too soon. If you desire it very much, you can learn when you are a
man."
To this Radionek made no reply. He kept to himself the earnest desire
which he had conceived; and though in the bottom of his heart he never
forgot the beautiful glazed pottery, he spoke no more about it, for
fear of worrying the old man.
But the good father desired above all things to gratify his child's
wishes, although he did not sympathize with his youthful hopes, which
might lead to such bitter disappointment if the enterprise was
unsuccessful. Good Iermola therefore resolved to spare neither time nor
pains until he could somehow make that unfortunate glazed pottery; and
as he never decided upon any important matter without consulting his
neighbour the widow, he went out one evening to ask her advice.
In this other house also, the ten years which had passed had brought
many noticeable changes, which had come about gradually and almost
insensibly; the widow had lost some of her strength, but she continued
to manage actively her house and farm. Horpyna, now the wife of a
steward, lived a few miles away; having begun life making her own
dresses and wearing a silk handkerchief on her head, she now wore
bonnets and hats, and was not quite happy when her mother came to see
her, because she wished to pass as the daughter of a gentleman. She
rarely came to Popielnia; and when she did come, it was always because
she had some request to make of her mother. The old widow of Harasym
was always thankful for these short and rare visits, and was always
ready to give anything Horpyna asked, provided she had the comfort of
seeing her daughter and her grandchildren. When very soon Horpyna would
prepare to depart and would not consent to leave one of her children
with her mother, the poor old woman would burst into tears, and for
several days she would remain seated silently in front of her stove,
scorching her face and swallowing her tears; but lest she should bring
shame upon her daughter, she regarded her wishes and never went to her
house. This continual solitude and constant longing had rendered the
widow much sadder than formerly; she found her only consolation in the
companionship of Iermola, to whom she could speak of Horpyna and make
her lamentations. He in his turn talked to her of Radionek, and in any
important matter always sought the advice and experience of his old
friend.
So at this moment, when the question of undertaking the manufacture of
glazed pottery arose, he hastened to take counsel of her, leaving
Radionek and Huluk busy about some work in the shop.
"Well, what news have you brought from the market?" asked the widow.
"Did my Horpyna happen to be there?"
"Yes, she was there," said Iermola. "One is scarcely able to recognize
her, she has become such a fine lady; she was driving in a painted
carriage with two horses and handsome leather harness. They put up at
the hotel, and came out to the fair grounds to make purchases."
"And she did not ask you anything about me?" sighed the old woman.
"Of course,--of course she did; how could she have failed to do so? She
charged me to give you her love, and she called to me from her carriage
for the express purpose; she patted my little Radionek's cheeks."
"And did she have any of her children with her?"
"No, not one."
And this exchange of question and answer would have continued endlessly
had not the widow been struck with the expression of anxiety and grief
upon her neighbour's face.
"But what is the matter with you? Are you sick, old man?" said she.
"Ah! you are right," answered Iermola, sighing and seating himself on
the bench; "I have another great trouble."
"Well, well! tell me about it. We will see what can be done."
"Ah! this will be a difficult matter to remedy. My youngster, who is
obstinate and impetuous as any crazy young thing, has seen the glazed
pottery at the fair; and now he has taken it into his head to
manufacture some of it, and I cannot possibly make him give up the
idea."
"Well, did I not tell you so?"
"What did you tell me?"
"Why, don't you remember? When he began to make his little horses, and
his little queer-shaped jugs which scarcely held a pint apiece, I
predicted that by the end of the year he would be wishing to make
beautiful fine pottery."
"Well, it has happened as you said," answered Iermola, "and now it is
impossible to make him listen to reason. I have said what I could to
him, but that does not prevent my being anxious to please him; and I
really do not know how to do it."
"Why, go and examine the glazed ware closely."
"Ah, mother, I would willingly do that; but it would not help me at
all. It is not difficult to turn the dishes; but to glaze them is a
very difficult matter, because several drugs must be mixed together for
that purpose, and besides, one must know how long to bake them. My eyes
are not very good now, and neither is my memory," sighed the old man.
"But if you only knew, mother, how much I would like to please my
child!"
"But how can you do it?"
"I do not know yet at all; but even if one cannot succeed, one can
always try."
"Yes, I am sure of that," answered the widow, with a smile; "how can
you possibly refuse your child anything? I know all about that, you
see. I was just so about my Horpyna; we scold and fret, but we end by
doing what they wish. Consequently you will go, my poor old man, to
learn to make the fine glazed pottery."
"Yes, certainly I shall go," sighed Iermola. "Only I would not like the
child to know about it. If I should not succeed, it would trouble him
very much, but if I could only learn all by myself-- Good Lord, how
glad I would be!"
"That's just the way I used to do,--just the way," cried the widow.
"Ah, my God! I know all about it. But tell me, where would you go?"
"I would take a little money and go and look up one or two of the
potters who sold the glazed ware at the fair; they might teach me if I
paid them. If I did not succeed at once, I would take the child; he
would understand at once. The only thing I fear is that they would
drive me away. How could I propose such a thing to them,--to come to
them to learn for the purpose of taking away their living?"
"Ah! you are right; you might not get along so easily perhaps as you
did with Procope; but Nad syrotojn Boh z kalitojn,"[7] she added, "and
with the help of Providence, you may be able to succeed."
"That is what I think," said Iermola, rising to take leave of the
widow. "To-morrow I will pretend to have a little business, and will go
to town; please, neighbour, while I am gone, have an eye upon Huluk and
Radionek, and do not let them cut up any pranks. They would just as
soon go out on the river in a leaky boat or do some other such silly
thing."
"Oh, no; they are very quiet, reasonable boys."
"Yes, certainly they are, thank God; but they are so hot-blooded. If a
notion strikes them, they are capable of getting lost in the forest, or
jumping into the river. May God preserve us from any such misfortune!"
"But it will be hard to keep them near me."
"Certainly; but you can see what they do, and warn them, neighbour."
So saying, the two old people separated, and Iermola immediately
announced to the boy that the Jews in the little town owed him some
money for his pottery, and had told him to come for it after the fair
was over; and that as he wished to collect all the little sums which
were due him, he perhaps would be obliged to remain away some days.
He then enjoined upon both boys to be very good, and work well during
his absence, and not to go near the river, or wander in the forest.
"Are you going to walk?" Radionek asked him.
"What do you mean? I surely shall not go in a carriage," answered the
old man, smilingly.
"But couldn't you hire a wagon?"
"How could I? There is not a single horse in the whole village, except
Chwedko's mare, which he would not lend for anything in the world; and
as for being dragged along by oxen, I would rather walk. Besides, my
legs swell when I sit all the time, and it will not do me any harm to
stand up a while."
Poor old Iermola did not remember his age, and attributed the swelling
of his limbs to his sedentary occupation, while it was really the
effect of age and weakness. He was never willing to spend anything upon
himself; and from the moment his business began to pay him anything, he
put by all he could spare for Radionek, so that if he should die, the
child would not be left penniless. He would certainly have preferred to
use Chwedko's mare; but that would have cost him something, and Iermola
was extremely economical in everything that concerned himself.
So Radionek was unable to persuade him to hire a wagon; but toward
evening he sent Huluk to the village secretly, to learn whether any one
was going to town. Then, as he had laid by a few coppers, the product
of his work, he charged Huluk, if he found no other opportunity, to
hire Chwedko's mare, enjoining it upon the old man to say that having
himself some business in the town, he offered a seat gratis to his
neighbour Iermola. Everything happened as fortunately as possible.
Chwedko's wagon was not hired out for the next day; and the old man,
having received two florins for his trouble, engaged positively to
feign and lie. Accordingly, by the end of the evening Radionek had
everything arranged; and when Huluk returned from the village Radionek
went and kissed the old man's hand.
"Father," said he, as he did so, "we have just met Chwedko; he is going
to town to-morrow with his mare, and he says that he is lonely by
himself and wants you to go with him. In this way it will cost you
nothing, good father."
"Chwedko? Where? How?" asked Iermola, in great surprise, as he embraced
Radionek. "You are joking, my child, aren't you?"
"No, indeed; ask Huluk," replied Radionek, who exercised over his young
valet an authority born of intelligence and affection.
"Oh, certainly not," answered the boy. "I understood him plainly, I
assure you; he even begged that you should not start till he comes, for
to-morrow, before day, he will be at the door of your cabin."
Iermola bent his head in token of consent, and after that was anxious
only concerning the purpose of his journey.
At the bottom of his heart he was quite content to go with Chwedko and
so rest his old limbs. He embraced Radionek once more, and then went to
bed, always thinking about the beautiful glazed pottery.
Radionek, who was now silent on the subject, thought of it as much.
Although he no longer spoke about it, lest he should worry the old man,
in his dreams he was constantly handling the large dishes and
beautifully glazed pitchers, all painted red and green and white, black
and yellow, so as to make them bright and beautiful and attractive. The
poor child wearied his brain trying to discover the secret of those
preparations which to him seemed like magic, but having no idea, no
suggestions on the subject, it was impossible for him to come anywhere
near the truth; he could only sigh and worry and grow weary.
XIII.
THE GRAY MARE.
The morning of the next day was clear and bright; from early dawn the
sky had been perfectly clear and radiant, which is the sign of a storm.
A few fleecy white clouds hung above the forest,--an indication that a
shower of rain would fall toward evening; the sun was burning hot;
there was not a breath of air. Chwedko was as good as his word, and
appeared with his horse and wagon at the appointed hour; he did more
than this,--he carefully kept Radionek's secret. He went into the
cottage to announce his arrival and light his pipe, calling Iermola
hurriedly, as if he had gone out of his way, and complained of being
obliged to go on the journey.
"Come, father, come; be quick! Are you ready? When there are two of us,
the road will not seem so long. The Devil has sent me on a trip to the
city; and the road is very long, and it is so hot. What will it be at
noon? We must hurry. Sit down, sit down; do not be ceremonious!"
Iermola took his little bag of money and hid it in his bosom, and was
then ready to start.
"Come, let us be off, neighbour."
The two old men sat down in the wagon on a bundle of hay, and Chwedko's
gray mare, fastened by her collar surmounted by a bow of wood
ornamented with little bells, having cast a glance at her master,
decided to start, and went trotting through the village.
In the ordinary life of our lower classes, the creatures which aid them
in their work and supply their needs form a portion of their society;
the pet lamb, goat, cow, calf, horse, even the goose and hen of the
courtyard become companions and sincere friends. How many cares and
regrets are had on their account, and how much trouble they give!
From time to time they quarrel, fight, and injure one another; but if
one of the household animals falls sick or dies, there is lamentation
and weeping. Chwedko's gray mare, of which we should here make mention,
for it richly deserves it, belonged to the class of the elect, with
whom it is difficult to live, but who, nevertheless, cannot be
dispensed with. Gifted with numberless good qualities and terrible
faults, she constituted the entire wealth of her master; she was at
once his consolation and his perpetual torment, and played a most
important part in his life.