“Why so?”
“Because she died in time for me to seek a third.”
“What! Still dreaming about women, and his old eyes see no more as soon as twilight comes!”
“It is not always necessary to see.”
At this, they laughed uproariously, and the women cried out:
“For the love of vodka and of talk, they are both well matched.”
“There’s a saying: ‘A wife good in talk, and a man strong in deed, have every chance in the world to succeed.’ ”
The Voyt had now sat down by Ambrose, the others crowding round, as many as could find seats, or, if they could not, standing about with little heed to the dancers’ convenience.
And then began such a running fire of witty sayings, jests, comic tales, and joyous banter, that they all shook with laughter. In this field, Ambrose was the recognized leader, and chaffed his hearers to their very faces with so much humour and fun that they were like to split their sides. Amongst the women, Vachnikova yielded to none for drollery; she played first fiddle in that respect, with the Voyt for bass-viol, so far as his official dignity permitted.
The musicians sawed away as hard as they could, and scraped out the liveliest tunes they had; and the dancers were shuffling along as fast, and shouting, and screaming, and tapping with nimble heels. Blithe and delighted, they had forgotten the rest of the world, when one of them chanced to notice Yankel standing outside in the passage. At once they pulled him into the room. The Jew took off his cap, with amicable bows and salutations to all present, and taking no notice of the nicknames showered upon him.
“Yellow one!—Unchristened one!—Son of a mare!”
“You be quiet there!” cried the Voyt. “Let us treat him! Here, a glass of the best vodka!”
“I was passing along the road, and wanted to see how you husbandmen divert yourselves.—God reward you, Mr. Voyt.—I’ll take a drop of vodka—why should I not?—to the health of the newly-wedded pair!”
Boryna raised the bottle and invited Yankel, who, after wiping the glass with the skirt of his capote, covered his head, and tossed off one glass, followed by a second.
“Stay a bit, Yankel: it will not make you unclean,” they cried out in a merry vein. “Here, musicians, play us the Jewish dance, and Yankel will caper to it.”
“Yes, I may dance; why not? ’Tis no sin.”
But ere the players had understood what was wanted of them, Yankel slipped quietly into the passage, and vanished in the yard. He had come to get back his gun.
They scarce noticed his exit. Ambrose had all the time gone on with his entertainment, to which Vachnikova contributed a violoncello accompaniment, so to speak. And he continued until suppertime, when the music ceased, the tables were pushed forward, and the clatter of dishes was heard: yet they still listened and he still held forth.
Boryna invited them to sup, but without effect. Yagna asked them again and again. The Voyt only got her into the circle, made her sit down by him, and held her by the hand.
It was Yasyek (nicknamed Topsy-turvy) who bellowed out: “Come, good folk, and set to: the dishes are cooling.”
“Hold your tongue, blockhead, or lick the dishes with it.”
“Old Ambrose! You are lying like a gipsy, and fancy we don’t know it!”
“Yasyek, take what folk put into your mouth: you’re good at that. But leave me alone, you are no match for me!”
“No match! Just you try, then!” the foolish lad shouted. He thought Ambrose meant fighting.
“An ox could do all you can … or more!”
“Because you bear his Reverence’s night-vase, Ambrose, you think none has wit but you.”
Ambrose was offended, and growled: “Let a calf into church, he’ll come out just as he was.—Idiot!”
Yasyek’s mother attempted to stand up for her son. He went off to table first of all, and soon the others took their places in a hurry; for the cooks had brought in the smoking dishes, and the odour filled the room.
They seated themselves in order of precedence, as was fitting for the bride’s installation ceremony: Dominikova and her sons in the middle, bridesmen and bridesmaids together; Boryna and Yagna remained standing to serve the guests, and see that all was done properly.
A quiet interval succeeded, save that the brats outside made a noise at the window, fighting with one another, and Lapa barked in great excitement about the house and passages. The company were quiet and decorous, while they worked hard to put the eatables away: only their spoons tinkled about the rims of the dishes, and the glasses jingled going round.
Yagna was continually busy, setting some particular dainty before each guest: here it was meat, there some other very good thing. And she begged them all so courteously not to stint themselves, and behaved with such natural grace, conquering all hearts with her beauty and the pleasant words she said, that many of the men present could not but gaze on her in adoration, and her mother even laid down her spoon to look and rejoice in her daughter.
Boryna, too, noticed this, and when she happened to go to the kitchen, followed, caught up with her in the passage, gave her a mighty hug, and kissed her enthusiastically.
“Dear, what a housewife you make!—Like a manor-house lady—so dignified and so pleasing in everything!”
“Am I not, eh?—Now run away to the room: Gulbas and Simon are sitting apart, grumpy and eating little. Get them to drink with you!”
He obeyed, and did all she wanted. And Yagna felt now strangely blithe of heart, and full of affection. She knew herself the mistress of the house, knew that power had somehow got into her hands: and therewith she was aware of an accession of authority and serenity and strength. She walked about the place at ease, eyed all she saw with keen understanding, and managed things as though she had been married ever so
