“You, Yagna, are mistress here; it is yours to divide this bread amongst them: so will they thrive and not take any sickness. But let them not be milked till tomorrow evening, or they will give no more milk at all.”
Yagna broke an altar-bread into five pieces, made the sign of the cross over each cow between her horns, and laid the thin bit of wafer upon her broad rough tongue.
Yuzka wanted to know whether the horses were also to get their share of the bread.
“It must not be; there were no horses in the byre where Christ was born.”
When they had returned, Roch spoke thus:
“Every being, every meanest blade of grass, every little pebble, nay, even the star that is all but unseen to the eye—everything feels today, everything knows that the Lord is born.”
“My God!” Yagna exclaimed. “What! even clods and stones?”
“I speak sooth: it is so. Everything has its soul. All beings in the world have feeling, and await the hour when Jesus, taking pity on them, shall say:
“ ‘Awake, O soul, and live, and merit Heaven!’—Yes, and the tiniest worm, the swaying grass even, can after its fashion have merit, and praise the Lord in its own way. … And tonight, of all nights in the year, they all rise up, full of life, and listen, waiting for His Word!
“And to some it comes now, but to others not yet: they lie patient in the dark, expecting the dawn; stones, waterdrops, clods, trees, and whatever God has appointed each of them to be!”
Mute, they all pondered over the words he said; for he had spoken, and in sapient wise, and words which touched the heart. Yet both Boryna and Dominikova had doubts as to the truth of these; and, much as they turned them over and over in their minds, they could not clear up the matter. For, though God’s Omnipotence was indeed marvellous and beyond all thought, still—that everything should have a soul!—this was what they could not grasp. But now, the smith having come in with his family, they set these thoughts aside.
“We shall sit up with you, Father, and then go together to midnight mass,” he said.
“Sit down,” said Boryna; “it will be more pleasant with you. We shall be all together, save for Gregory.”
Yuzka looked indignantly at her father, for she thought of Antek: but she durst not say anything.
Once more they took their seats on benches by the fire; but Pete went out into the yard to chop firewood against the coming great Day of Rest, Vitek taking the chopped wood in his arms and piling it up in the passage.
“Ah! but I had forgotten!” cried the smith. “The Voyt ran and asked me to tell Dominikova she was to come at once; for his wife is in travail and screams so that she is likely to be confined this very night.”
“I would have liked to go to church with you all; but since you say she screams, I must look in.”
Having whispered with the smith’s wife, she hastened away, for she was an expert in these matters, and to many had done more good than the doctors.
Various legends relating to the day were told by Roch: one of them was as follows:
“Long ago—as many years back as from now to Christ’s Birth—a certain wealthy husbandman was walking home from market, where he had sold a couple of fatted calves, and had the money concealed in one of his boots. He bore a stout cudgel and was stout himself—perhaps the strongest fellow in his village. But he was in a hurry to get home ere nightfall, because in those days thieves used to hide in the woods and waylay true men.
“This must have been in summer, for the greenwood was fragrant and resounded with many a sweet song; a mighty wind rocked the trees, and there was an uproarious rustling overhead. Now, therefore, the man went along in haste, looking around him and fearing. But he saw only young and old pines and oaks standing side by side, and never a living soul. Yet he feared, for he was approaching a cross, and close by was so dense a thicket, the eye could not see to pierce it: there thieves were mostly wont to hide. So he crossed himself and, saying prayers in a loud voice, ran on as fast as he could.
“He had without hurt passed out of the wood of tall trees, and had gone through the undergrowth of dwarf pines and of juniper-bushes. Already he could see the green of the open country, hear the streamlets babbling and gurgling along and the lark singing on high; and he noted men ploughing and flocks of storks winging their way over the marshes; nay, he had even caught the scent of the cherry-orchards in blossom: when out of the last of the thickets the robbers came leaping upon him! They were twelve, all armed with knives. Bravely he fought, and though they soon overpowered him, he would not give up his money, and shrieked for help. So they threw him down, put their knees on his chest, and were going to slay him. Suddenly, they were all struck motionless, and remained so—bending over him, knives in air, full of rage, but, as it were, turned to stone!—And at that same instant all things around also became still as death. The birds, silent, floated moveless in air—the streams rested—the sun rolled on no more—the wind fell dead—the trees remained as they were bent by the wind—and the corn also. And the storks seemed fixed in the sky, with outstretched wings … and the ploughman remained with whip raised over his horse where it stood … and the whole region, as if terror-struck, became immobile like a picture.
“How long this lasted, none can tell, but it endured until men heard upon earth the Angels’ chant:
‘Christ comes: fear Him, O ye mighty!’
when immediately all things began to move again. But the
