“Of Antek, too, people talk—say they have been seen together here and there.”—The voices dropped lower as the spiteful talk went on, leaving no shred of reputation on any of the family, and the more unmerciful for their hostess as they had more pity for her two sons.
“Is’t not a sin?—Simon, a man wearing mustachios—thirty, if a day—and she will not let him marry, nor leave the house: and for the slight fault she raises a tempest!”
“It is indeed a shame: such strapping lads, and doing all the woman’s work!”
“So that Yagna, forsooth, may not soil her hands!”
“Each of them has five acres of his own, and might marry at his ease!”
“With so many unmarried girls around them!”
“Yes, yes; your own poor Martianna, waiting for ages, and the land quite close by Paches’!”
“You let her alone! See rather to your girl Franka, lest she come to grief with Adam!”
“Those great oafs!—Afraid to leave their mother’s apron-strings!”
“They are beginning: Simon has been all the evening staring at Nastka.”
“Their father was of the like mould: I remember well.—Aye, and the old woman was in her time no better than Yagna.”
“As the root is, so the boughs; as the mother, so the daughter.”
The music ceased, and, supper being over, the musicians went to refresh themselves in the kitchen. But after a time the noise waxed even louder than before, and the whole place seethed with uproar: all talking, ranting, shouting away one to the other across the tables, and no one able to make out what was said.
At the close of the meal, the most select guests were offered a drink compounded of mead and spices, while the others got strong vodka and beer in abundance.
By this time, but few were well aware of what they were drinking, being too far gone and in a blissful state. They made themselves comfortable, and unbuttoned their capotes to be cooler; beat the tables with their fists till the dishes jingled, embraced each other, either round the neck or clutching at the shirt-collar; and they talked freely, unbosoming themselves and telling all their sorrows as if they had been brothers.
“ ’Tis ill living here on earth! Things are out of gear with mankind, and we have naught but grief!”
“Aye, men are like dogs, snapping at one another for a bone.”
“No consolation, save when neighbour meets neighbour over a glass, and they take counsel, and make complaint; and if any has wronged or been wronged, he is forgiven and forgives!”
“As even now, at this wedding-feast: but, ah! for one day only!”
“Ah! Tomorrow will come, though we call him not! You’ll not shun him, save in God’s hallowed Acre. … Yea, he will come and seize you, and lay on you his yoke, and smite you with the whip of poverty; and you, O man! must pull … even till the yoke be bloodstained.”
“What is’t aggravates our misery, setting men one against the other, like dogs quarrelling for a fleshless bone?”
“Not poverty alone, but an Evil Power; and they then are blinded by him, discerning not good from evil.”
“Truly so; and he bloweth upon our souls as one bloweth on half-quenched embers; and he causeth greed, malice, and all wickedness to burst out into flame!”
“Yes; for he that is deaf to the commandments hath a quick ear for the music played in hell.”
“It was otherwise of old days.—Then was there obedience, and respect for old men, and concord.”
“And each man had land, as much as he could till; and pastures, and meadows, and the forest.”
“Who in those days ever heard of taxes?”
“Or was there anyone that purchased timber? He had but to drive to the wood and take all he needed, though it were the best pine or oak. The property of the Squire was the peasants’ property too.”
“And now it belongs to neither, but to the Jews, or to men still worse.”
“The foul carrion! (I have drunk to you: drink you to me! …) They are now established as on land of their own! (Your health, Brother!) … To drink vodka is not a sin, if only at the proper season and with brothers: this is a wholesome thing, it cleanses the blood and drives away distempers.”
“Who drinks at all, should drink one quart complete—likewise, who makes merry, should do it all Sunday long.—But have you work to do? Man, do it with all your might, grudge not your force, but put forth all your strength. And if ill things come to pass—if your wife be taken, if your cattle die, or your home burn down—why, ’tis the will of God. Do not rebel: what will it avail you to lament, poor creature as you are? Be patient, therefore; trust in God’s mercy. Aye, and if the worst should hap, and should grim Crossbones stare you in the face and clutch your throat, attempt not to escape, which is more than you can do; all is in the hand of God!”
“Verily, who is to know the day when the Lord shall declare: ‘Thus far, O man, is thine: what is beyond is mine?’ ”
“It is so of a truth. As lightning flashes, so are the decrees of God: and none, be he a priest, be he a sage, can know them till they fall, as ripe corn falls out of the ear.”
“Man, you have to know but one thing—to do your duty, live as God commands you, and not look too far ahead.—Surely our Lord prepares the wages of His servants, and pays most strictly what is due to each.”
“By these laws did the Polish people stand of old, and they are forever and ever, Amen.”
“Aye, and by patience shall we prevail against the gates of hell.”
Thus they discoursed together, with not infrequent libations, everything pouring out all he felt in his heart, all that had long stuck in his throat and stifled him. Ambrose talked the most of all and the loudest.
At the
