But what exasperated him was not the work; for, as wise men say, “Whatever you take to well, can give comfort even in hell.” No: what he could not bear was Matthew’s position of superiority, and his continual sneers.
The others had got used to these; but he could not help boiling with indignation each time; and more than once he uttered so fierce a snarl that the overseer’s eyes flamed. And then, of set purpose, he would begin to criticize everything about Antek: not openly to his face, but always animadverting on anything imperfect in his work, till the latter tingled all over and felt his fists clench of themselves. He nevertheless restrained himself, damped his fires, and simply put all these things by for future remembrance, being well aware that Matthew only awaited an opportunity to oust him from his place.
Now, though Antek cared little for his work in itself, he was resolved not to be put down and triumphed over by any man alive.
And the outcome of all this was that their mutual hatred grew deadlier every day: Yagna, like a festering wound, being at the bottom thereof. Ever since last spring, possibly since last Carnival, both had alternately followed her, each trying to get the better of the other, secretly indeed, yet well aware of the other’s attempts. Matthew, however, worked in the open, telling everyone of his love, while Antek was compelled to hide his feelings, and let a dull, yet burning jealousy devour his heart.
There never had been much love lost between them, and they had always looked somewhat askance at each other, and would boast great things in the presence of third parties, each holding himself to be the strongest fellow in the whole village. And now that this mutual hate had grown to such an extent in a few weeks, it had came to pass that neither would address the other; they passed by, glaring like angry wolves.
Matthew was not a bad fellow, nor even of churlish disposition. On the contrary, he had a good heart, and an open helping hand. His only defects were too much self-confidence, and a tendency to set himself above others, together with a belief in his irresistibility with the other sex. No girl, he thought, but must give way to him; and he said so, and bragged of it, and was the first of men in his own conceit. He now also enjoyed telling folk that Antek worked under his orders, and looked up to him humbly lest he should be expelled.
For those that knew the latter, it was surprising to mark how he kept himself calm, and stooped to behave so humbly as he did. But there were those who said there was something brewing under all this; that Antek had never yet overlooked an insult, and would one of these days take his revenge. These were even ready to bet that Matthew would soon find out that he was (as they say) biting at a very sour apple.
Antek, of course, who never looked in anywhere, was ignorant of all that was said. He used to pass by without speaking even to his acquaintances, always going straight home after working-hours. But he, too, felt that there was something about to happen, and he saw plainly through Matthew’s doings.
“But I’ll beat you into such a jelly, you carrion, that the very dogs will have none of you, and you’ll never brag any more!” Such was the cry that escaped him one day at work. Bartek heard and said:
“Take no thought of him; he is paid to drive us, and he does.” The old man had not caught the meaning of that cry.
“I cannot brook even a dog that barks without cause!”
“You take it all too much to heart; it heats your liver, and makes you, as I see, toil too feverishly.”
“No, I work like that on account of the cold,” he answered, wishing to make some reply or other.
“Let us do all things slowly, step by step. Slowly; for the Lord Jesus, who might have made the world in one day only, chose to do so in a whole week, with one day of rest. Why should you be so anxious to wear yourself out for the miller or anyone else’s sake? Who forces you?—Matthew is a watchdog, nothing more: why take his barking amiss?”
“I spoke as I felt,” Antek said; and then, to change the conversation, “Where were you last summer?” he asked. “I did not see you in the village.”
“I worked a little, saw something of this God’s world, looked about me, and filled my soul with spiritual food,” he answered deliberately, whilst hewing the other side of Antek’s log, now and then straightening himself, and stretching his limbs till the joints cracked: always pipe in mouth.
“I was working with Matthew at the new Manor; but he drove too hard, and it was springtime in the land, and the sunshine smelt sweet. So I left him. There were folk going that way down to Kalvarya;25 so I went with them to gain the indulgences and see a bit of the country.”
“Is it far to Kalvarya?”
“ ’Tis beyond Krakow.—But I did not get so far. In a village where we stopped to dine, there was a peasant building a hut, and he knew as much about building as a goat knows about pepper! He made me angry; I swore at the man, for he was wasting good timber—and in the end I stayed on with him. In a couple of months I had built him a house like a villa; and for that he would perforce have me wed his sister, a widow that had five acres of land hard by.”
“Old, I dare say.”
“Not young, ’tis true; but still comely enough. Rather bald, to be sure; lame,
