Ere you quit us, here come we;
’Fore you both your cooks you see:
Pray forget us not, good men:
For each dish give stivers three;
For our seasoning stivers ten!
The company had eaten plentifully, and drunk yet more; their hearts were warmed by good cheer, and many a man tossed even silver coins into the ladle as it passed.
They then slowly rose from table, and went out, some to breathe the fresh air, some to resume their conversation in the passages or in the great room; some gave way to enthusiastic demonstrations of friendship; and more than one reeled about, running his head against the walls or some other man, butting like rams.
Only the Voyt remained at the board with the miller, both quarrelling with intense fury, and about to fly at each other like two hawks, when Ambrose came to reconcile them, offering more vodka.
“Back to your church porch, old beggar,” the Voyt snarled at him, “and hold yourself aloof from your betters.”
So Ambrose walked off in dudgeon, hugging the bottle to his breast, stumping noisily and seeking someone to drink and talk with as a friend.
The young people had dispersed about the orchard, or were walking arm-in-arm along the road, with much horseplay, and chasing of one another, and shouting. The night was serene; the moon hung over the pond, which glittered so bright that the feeblest circles tremulous on its surface were distinctly visible, moving like snake-coils in silence, responsive (as it seemed) to the light that struck on them from above. The frost was pretty hard, the road-ruts were crisp underfoot, the roofs rime-crusted and hoary. It was in the small hours, for the first cockcrow had already been heard.
Meanwhile they set the great room in order for dancing again.
Rested and refreshed, the players now again, in subdued strains, called the guests together.
Yagna had been taken to the private room by the matrons, Boryna sat with Dominikova close to the door, the elders took seats on benches and in corners, where they discussed various matters, and only the girls stood about the room besides, giggling together: a pastime which soon tired them, and they decided on starting some games, “to stir the boys up a little.”
First there was the game, “Fox goes out to make his round; both his hands and feet are bound.”
Yasyek, nicknamed Topsy-turvy, was dressed up as Fox, in his sheepskin turned inside out. He was a silly fellow, a simpleton, and the laughingstock of them all. Though a full-grown man, he played with children, and was in love with all the girls and foolish beyond measure: but, being an only child with ten acres of his own, he was invited everywhere. Yuzka Boryna was his quarry, the Hare. And they laughed; Lord, how they laughed!
At every step, Yasyek stumbled and fell down, sprawling, with a thud like a log. The others, too, put out their feet to make him fall; and Yuzka got out of his way with perfect ease: she sat up quite as a hare does, and imitated to perfection the way its lips move.
Then came “Quails.”
Nastka was leader, and so nimble that no one could catch her till she let them (in order to dance a measure with someone).
Finally, Tomek Vahnik was made up for a Stork, having a sheet over his head and a long stick which he held under it for beak; and he clack-clack-clacked like a real stork, so well that Yuzka, Vitek, and all the youngsters ran after him, calling (as they do to the live bird):
Klek, Klek, Klell!
Thy mother’s in hell!
What does she there?
Cook children’s fare!
What was her sin?
That her little ones’ bellies had nothing in!
And the hullabaloo was great; for he ran after them, and pecked with his beak, and flapped his wings violently.
These games lasted but an hour, when they had to make way for other observances.
Now the married women brought Yagna out of the private room, covered all over in a white wrapper, and seated her in the centre, on a kneading-trough on which a featherbed had been put. The bridesmaids thereupon rushed forward as though to snatch her away, but the men kept them off: and at last they formed a group opposite, intoning a sad and plaintive chant:
Where is your wreath, oh, where
Your bridal wreath so fair?
Henceforth, to man’s will bowed,
A cap, your locks to shroud,
You on your head must bear!
The matrons then uncovered her.
She was seen wearing the cap of the married women over the thick plaits of her tresses; yet in this disguise she appeared still more fascinating than before.
To the slow strains of the band, the whole assembly, young and old, struck up the “Hop-Song” in one grand unison of gladness. This ended, she was taken over by the matrons alone, to dance with them. … Yagustynka, by this time much heated, set her arms akimbo, and flung this impromptu verse at her:
Oh! had I known this day would see
My Yagna wed a widower,
A wreath I would have woven thee
Of naught but prickly juniper!
After which came others, yet more biting than the first.
But little note was taken of them; for the musicians had struck up for the greatest performance of all; and forward now came the dancers, and the trampling of many feet was heard. They crowded thickly, couple close to couple, cheek by jowl, moving ever more swiftly as the dance went on. Capotes flew open and flapped wide, heels stamped, hats waved—now and then a snatch of song burst forth—the girls hummed the burden, “da dana,” and tore on more quickly still, and swayed in measure in the mighty, swirling, headlong rush! No one could any longer distinguish his neighbour in the throng; and when the violins burst forth in quick sharp volleys of clean-cut separate notes, a hundred
