And when he had done, he sprinkled holy water over their bowed heads, and cried with all his might:
“Praised be Jesus Christ!—O my dear people, how is it with you all?”
They answered him in chorus, pressing round him as sheep round their shepherd, some kissing his hands, some embracing his knees. He strained each of them to his heart, stroked their thin cheeks, and asked about their health with the kindest attention. At last, quite wearied out, he sat down under the cross, wiping sweat from his brow and tears of fatherly love from his eyes.
Around him, his people gave way to all the impetuosity of passionate tenderness.
Then arose a tumult of laughter and of kissing, of happy tears, childlike prattle, words of fire, ardent whispers, and cries that burst out like songs from their rejoicing hearts. Women took their husbands apart, men stood swaying about in a ring of women and children, and speech and weeping rose in blissful confusion. All this lasted many minutes, and would have lasted longer, but that the priest saw it was getting late, and gave the signal to depart.
So they went on to the last mound on the road by the forest, skirted with young junipers and pine-saplings.
The priest intoned: “O most beloved Mother! …” which all took up as one man with a great cry, their hearts brimming over with bliss; and the hymn, like a spring tempest, burst forth and smote on the forest with darts of fiery jubilation.
And the forest bent its head over the road, looking down on them, waving its treetops in the evening sun, but within its depths so hushed and calm that the very tappings of the woodpeckers were clearly heard, and the cuckoo’s call, and the twittering of the field-birds.
In places, their way led them along upon the verge of the tilled lands; and the peasants, silently passing in serried ranks by the road-ditches, stooped down to cast their eyes over the green expanse; to gaze on the blossoming trees, all on fire in the sundown, and the long strips of cornland lying prostrate before them, and those fields, covered with long waves of winter-corn, that seemed rolling up to their feet with a jubilant murmur. And how their eyes gloated over that land, their true foster-mother! Some even saluted it with doffed caps; all knelt down in spirit, mutely and fervently worshipping Her, the Hallowed, Her, the Much-desired!
After these first salutations came more noisy chat and freer rejoicings of heart. Many a one, too, would fain have run into the wood and shouted himself hoarse, or lain down to shed tears of pure happiness in the fields.
Hanka alone felt herself cut off from them all. Around her everywhere and before her, the men went about, loud in talk, and women and little ones crowded about them, enraptured and, as it were, pressing together under their wings. She alone had no one there who cared for her. All were boisterous with uncontrollable delight, and she, though in their midst, drooped and pined—as she had seen trees surrounded with lush underwood, but dying away, wherein even the crow would not build its nest, and whereon not a bird would alight! Few troubled to greet her. Of course; each was hastening to his own people.—And so many of them had been sent home! even that Koziol, after whose return they would again need to watch the storerooms and lock the sties! The ringleaders too were back: Gregory, the Voyt’s brother, and Matthew. Only Antek stayed in jail: perhaps never again to be seen by her!
Those thoughts were fast becoming unbearable: they were oppressing her so that she could hardly walk. And yet walk she did, with head erect, and apparently as brave and high-spirited as ever. When they sang, she joined in with a firm voice: when the priest offered up prayers, she was first—though with pallid lips—to repeat them after him. It was only in the intervals of silence, hearing round her whispers of ardent love, that she had to fix her eyes upon the glittering cross, and march on, careful lest her tears—those traitors making their way beneath her reddened eyelids—should let them know what she felt. She refrained even from asking after Antek, fearing to break down and show what she suffered. No—no! she had borne so much, and she could go through yet more, and suffer all patiently.
One other suffered also with her. Yagna was no better off than Hanka. She walked along, moving amongst them shyly, like some startled animal of the woods. She had at first been so transported with joy that she had run first of them all to greet the men; but no one had come forward, nor gathered her into his arms, nor kissed her! She had seen from afar Matthew, towering above the others, and her flashing eyes had glanced towards him, instinct with sudden long-forgotten desires; and she had pushed through the throng. But he had, it seemed, failed to recognize her; and before she got there, his mother had her arms about his neck, his sister Nastka and the other children were embracing and hugging him on every side; while Teresa (the soldier’s wife), bathed in tears and careless who might see her, was grasping his hand!
Her fire was quenched at once, as with a stream of icy water. How intense had been her wish to feel herself one of that crowd, part and portion of the crush; to join in that thrilling tumult of salutes, and enjoy herself like the others! For indeed, like them all, her heart had glowed with enthusiasm, and been ready for every transport of tenderness: and now she found herself isolated, out of it all: just like a mangy dog, she thought!
It was very, very bitter for her, and she barely refrained from tearful complaints, as she moved on, louring as a dark cloud that may at any time
