“Neither will I! He had revelled and caroused and had his pleasure: must I suffer now, paying for the pranks he has played?” So said many a one, in sore trouble, and hardly able to keep back his tears.
“Long have I had mine eyes upon the man, and foretold all that has now come to pass. Ye would not hearken then; and now, here you are!” old Ploshka said, not without ulterior intentions; and his wife, like a worthy helpmeet, echoed his words about the place, repeating them to any that would listen.
The tidings were so overwhelming that but few went that day to church, but talked the matter over at home. As the grievance was common to all, so they all complained together in huts and orchards, but especially along the millpond banks. What puzzled them most was, where the man could have wasted so much money.
“He must have hidden it somewhere; he never can have spent such a sum!”
“Nay, he has trusted in the scrivener’s uprightness, and we know well how far that goes.”
“Poor man! he has wronged us all, but himself more than anyone,” some of the graver villagers remarked: when Ploshka’s wife thrust her portly figure amongst them, and came forward wiping dry eyes, and with assumed sympathy:
“And I say, poor wife!—she that was such a grand and haughty dame—what will she do now? Both land and house will be taken from her, and the poor wretch will have to go into lodgings and work for others! ’Tis not as if she had got some pleasure out of all that money spent!”
“Oh, but she has enjoyed herself very well as it is!” Kozlova bawled, attacking her like Ploshkova, but in a different fashion. “They have both lived like lords, the merry villains!—meat every day, and half a potful of sugar in her coffee! And they both of them drank their rum neat and in tumblers! I myself have seen them bring all sorts of good things from town—half a cartful! What else made them so big-bellied? Not fasting, at any rate!”
She was listened to in grave silence, in spite of the arrant nonsense of her closing words. But it was the organist’s wife who decided the attitude of the people. She happened (it seemed a hazard at least) to be passing among them; and, listening to their talk, she observed, with apparent indifference:
“Why, do ye not know on what the Voyt has spent so much?”
They closed round her, and insisted on her telling them.
“ ’Tis clear enough: on Yagna!”
This was a surprise, and they looked at one another in bewilderment.
“Since last springtime, all the parish has been talking of naught else.—I shall not say a word; but go ye, ask anyone, even down in Modlitsa … and ye shall hear the truth!”
Seemingly unwilling to say more, she made as to leave them; but they followed her and literally drove her into a corner. Then she told them, as a secret that was to go no farther, how the Voyt had bought Yagna rings of the purest gold, kerchiefs of the finest silk, and given her lots of coral necklaces and quantities of ready money into the bargain! All these were of course glaring fabrications, but they believed her implicitly. All but Yagustynka, who cried out in a passion:
“Great saints, Snuffle and Cant, pray for us!—Have you seen all this, madam?”
“Yes, I have! And I can swear, even in church, that it was for her he has stolen: aye, and very likely at her instigation too! Ah, but she is capable of any crime; naught on earth is sacred to her, that shameless, that conscienceless one! The lewd beast, forever prowling about Lipka, bringing shame and disgrace wherever she goes! … Why, she even attempted to seduce my own Yanek, that innocent lad, as pure as a child! But he escaped from her and, coming, told me all! Only think of it: the wanton will not even leave a priest alone!” She stopped, out of breath, for her bitter spite had made her speak at a great rate.
These words had the effect of a spark on gunpowder. All the former grudges against Yagna now sprang into life again—all the feelings of envy and rivalry and hatred; all present gave utterance to what they had to accuse her of, and the tumult became indescribable. Everyone tried to shout down everyone else, and with louder and louder shrieks.
“How can our Christian land support such a monster?”
“And who caused Boryna’s death? Have ye forgotten?”
“So she has even attempted to entice a priest! O merciful Jesus!”
“Ah, how much drunkenness and quarrelling and iniquity are all owing to her!”
“She is an ulcer that infects the whole village, and because of her, Lipka is despised by all!”
“So long as she’s amongst us, there will ever be sin and wickedness and lechery! Today the Voyt robs us for her sake; another may do the same tomorrow!”
“Drive her out! Out—like a leper—to the woods and the forests!”
“Drive her out!—There’s no help for it! Drive her out!” they yelled, infuriated, and now wrought up to any extremity. On the proposal of the organist’s wife, they all went in a body to the Voyt’s. They found his wife bathed in tears, and so wretched, so miserably dejected, that they embraced her and wept over her, and condoled with her with the utmost tenderness.
After a while, Yanek’s mother mentioned Yagna.
“Ah, ’tis God’s truth,” the other lamented in despair. “She is the cause of all. … Oh, may she, for the wrong she has done, die like a dog in a ditch, eaten of worms for this my shame, for this my misery!” And she fell back on a settle, torn with fierce agony, and wrestling with a fit of sobs.
They sorrowed and wept over her for a long time; but as the sun was going westward, they at last went home. Only the organist’s wife remained; and the two, shut up together, took counsel and talked over
