Many a tear and no slight mortification did this failure cost the poor
mother. She, “the gracious Pani Popèlska,” who had been applauded by a
“select audience,” to find herself so utterly defeated,—and by whom? By a
common stable-boy, Joachim, with his absurd pipe! As she remembered the
disdainful glance of the Hohòl when her unsuccessful concert came to an
end, an angry blush overspread her face, and she felt an actual hatred
for the “detestable fellow.” But every evening when her boy hastened to
the stable, she would open the window, rest her elbows on the sill, and
listen intently. At first it was with a feeling of angry disdain that
she sought to catch that “stupid squeaking;” but gradually,—she knew not
how it came to pass,—the “stupid squeaking” had taken possession of her
soul, and she found herself eagerly devouring those mournful and pathetic
strains. When she woke to a realizing sense of this, she began to wonder
whence came their fascination, their enchanting mystery; and by degrees,
the bluish dusk of evening, the vague shadows of the night, and the
harmony existing between those melodies and Nature revealed the secret.
No longer resisting the attraction, she confessed to herself,—
“Yes, I must admit that this humble music does possess a rare and genuine
feeling,—a bewitching poetry not to be acquired by notes.”
This was indeed true. The secret of this poetry might be found in the
intimate relation between Nature and those memories of the past of which
it was ever whispering to the human heart. Joachim, the rude peasant,
with his greasy boots and calloused hands, possessed that harmonious,
that keen feeling for Nature.
Then the mother became aware that her haughty spirit had succumbed
before the stable-boy. She no longer remembered his coarse garments,
redolent of tar; but the pleasing modulations of the songs recalled
to mind his kind face, the mild expression of his gray eyes, and the
bashful, humorous smile that lurked under the long mustache. Yet again
the angry color rose, overspreading the face and temples of the young
woman: she was conscious that in this struggle for her child’s admiration
she had placed herself on a level with this “varlet,” and that he, “the
varlet,” had conquered. The whispering trees in the garden high above her
head, the light of the stars in the dark-blue sky, the violet mist that
shrouded the earth, together with Joachim’s melodies, all contributed to
fill the mother’s soul with gentle melancholy. Her spirit yielded itself
in meek submission, and entered more and more deeply into the mystery of
that pure, direct, and simple poetry of Nature.
Yes, the peasant Joachim had the true, living feeling! And how was it
with the mother herself? Was she entirely devoid of that feeling?
Why then did her heart beat so wildly, and why did the tears rise to
her eyes? Did not her emotion spring from her devoted love for her
unfortunate blind child, who left her for Joachim because she failed to
give him as keen a pleasure as the latter? She remembered the expression
of distress on the boy’s face caused by her playing, and hot tears gushed
from her eyes; it was with difficulty that she controlled her suffocating
sobs.
The poor mother! It seemed as if an incurable malady had settled upon
her, revealing its presence by an exaggerated tenderness at every
manifestation of suffering on the part of the child, and a mysterious
sympathy which by a thousand invisible chords bound her aching heart to
his. For this reason, the strange rivalry between herself and the Hohòl
piper, which in a woman of different nature would merely have stirred
a feeling of annoyance, became for her a source of bitter, exaggerated
suffering.
Thus time went on, without bringing the fond mother any apparent relief;
and yet she was gradually gaining a certain advantage. She began to feel
within her own breast an influx of melody and poetry, not unlike that
which had attracted her in the playing of the Hohòl. Hope, too, sprang up
in her heart. Under the influence of this sudden access of confidence she
approached the piano several times, and opened it, intending to overpower
the low-voiced pipe by harmonious chords. But every time a sense of
irresolution and timidity restrained her. She remembered her boy’s
distressed face, and the disdainful glance of the Hohòl; and dark as it
was, her cheeks flushed with shame, while with timid wistfulness she let
her hands flutter over the keys.
Still, day by day an inner consciousness of her own power grew within
the woman’s heart; and choosing the time when her boy was playing in the
evening in some remote garden-path, or perhaps out for a walk, she would
seat herself at the piano. At first her attempts were unsatisfactory;
her hands seemed powerless to evoke a response to her conception, and
the tones of the instrument failed to interpret her emotions. But soon
she perceived that the ease and freedom with which she could express her
feelings through the medium of those tones were gradually increasing.
The Hohòl’s lessons had not been without avail; while the mother’s love,
and an intuitive perception of the potent charm that swayed the heart of
her boy helped her to profit by them. Her difficult and brilliant themes
had given place to pensive songs; the sad Ukraine “meditation” echoed in
plaintive tones through the dimly lighted rooms, adding a tenderness to
the mother’s heart.
At last she gained confidence to enter into an open contest; and one
evening a strange combat went on between the manor and the stable. From
the shaded barn with its overhanging thatch, gently quivering, came the
trills of the pipe, while advancing to the encounter from the open
windows of the mansion, glittering in the moonlight through the leaves of
the beech-trees, echoed the full ringing chords of the piano. At first
neither the boy nor Joachim, prejudiced as they were, deigned to pay any
attention to the “learned” music of the mansion. The boy even frowned
when Joachim paused, and impatiently urged him on, saying,—
“Come, play! Go on playing!”
Three days had not gone by when these pauses grew more and more frequent.
Joachim often laid his pipe aside to listen, and the boy, forgetting to
urge his friend, listened also. Finally Joachim said in a dreamy sort
of way, “That is fine! Listen! that is a fine thing!” And then in his
dreamy, absent-minded way he took the boy in his arms and carried him
through the garden to the open window of the drawing-room.
Joachim supposed that the “gracious Pani” was playing for her own
amusement, and would take no notice of them. But Anna Michàilovna had
become aware that her rival, the pipe, had been silenced; she realized
her victory, and her heart beat with pride and joy. Moreover, her
displeasure with Joachim had entirely vanished. She knew that she owed
her present happiness to him,—he had shown her how to regain the devotion
of her child; and if her boy were now to receive from her new and
valuable impressions, they would both owe a debt of gratitude to their
teacher, the peasant piper.