Iermola. Józef Ignacy Kraszewski

when old age comes? Would you not be constantly sighing for home and the good friends left behind, rather than forgetting them and laughing at them? Would not home food taste better after you had eaten the bread of strangers?"

      "That is perhaps all true, if one continues honest and discreet,--if one lives in the fear of God; and then the voyages on the rafts might be of some service," answered the old man. "But it is so easy to grow dissipated, to get in the habit of seeing and desiring new things, and then grow weary and lounge about with arms folded. On the raft there are so many occasions for drinking: the unbelieving Jew does not spare the brandy at every mill, at every lock; and the men, from continually tasting it, soon go to the devil. What matters it to the Jew merchant what becomes of the souls of his boatmen, provided his wood arrives safely in Germany, and the thalers flow into his purse? As for me, I am an old man now, as you see, yet never in all my life have I had any desire to see what is going on far away in the rest of the world. I never have gone far from the threshold of the house in which I was born, and I have now only one prayer to offer to my God, and that is that I may be allowed to lie here in peace when I die."

      "Bless me! And are you satisfied?"

      "Perfectly, perfectly! And I ought to be, because I am no longer fit for the world, and I ought to be content to have in my old age all that is necessary to life,--a little corner and a bowl of soup. But I have had many sad moments too, and I am persuaded that it is much easier to endure poverty, weariness, and misfortune when one is among one's own people."

      "Is this, then, your native land?" said the young man.

      "Yes, here I was born, here I have dragged out my pitiful existence, and here I shall end it in peace," replied the old man, a little sadly. "It is not for the mushrooms to grow big like the oaks."

      "It must be a strange story."

      "What?"

      "Your own, to be sure."

      "Mine? Have I a history? Poverty was born, and poverty is dead."

      "Ah, please! We have nothing to do this evening; I dare not go to the inn. I beg you, good father, do tell me something of your life. It is so lonely there all by myself on the raft; in this way we can while away an hour or two, and I shall have learned something from you."

      The old man smiled sweetly.

      "But what can I tell you? There has been nothing unusual in my life; there are a great many lives like mine in this world. I have lived all alone, without friends, without brothers. Not even one being calls me cousin; not a living soul bears my name. Moreover, my child, you know that what gives an old man most pleasure is to talk about the days of his youth; therefore, if you are wise you will not call the wolf from the forest, for you never will be able to get rid of him again."

      "Never mind; only talk to me, talk to me! I shall always be glad to listen."

      "Well," began the old man, "I remember that when I was a very little boy I used to run about here in this very spot, on the shores of the Horyn, with other little villagers of my age. Ah, it mattered not then whether my head was bare or my shirt torn; no other days that I can recall seem so joyous and so sweetly happy as those."

      "And your parents?"

      "I do not remember them. I was six years old when they died of a terrible fever; and as they had come from Wolhynia, I had no relatives here, and was entirely alone. I see as through a mist the village watchman leading me away, as we came out of the cemetery to a neighbouring hut, where an old woman who called herself my foster-mother gave me a large plate of soup which I devoured greedily. I had eaten nothing for two days except a crust of dry bread which I had concealed in the bosom of my shirt. The next day I was sent into the fields to mind the geese; after that I was made to take care of the pigs; and finally, when it was found that I was not awkward, and that I knew how to take care of cattle, I was appointed to take the village cows to the meadow. Oh, how sweet a herdsman's life is! It is true that we had to go off with the cows at daybreak through the long grass all wet with dew; but to make up for it, we had a good nap in the middle of the day under the trees, when the cattle were at a safe distance from the wheat, and when our happy band of shepherds were frolicking in the furrows or in the great clearings. Cattle are not much trouble: they are quiet and intelligent; when once they are accustomed to their pastures, they will not go out of them even though beaten with a stick. If they are driven away once or twice from the oat or wheat fields, they never will go back there again; the boy has only to look at them and call to them from time to time, and then amuse himself as he pleases."

      "But what pleasure can he have when he has no companions?"

      "I told you that we went out in companies. And when we lighted a fire on a little rising ground among the rushes, or in the forest against the trunk of an old fallen tree; when we roasted potatoes, fried some mushrooms and morels, or a little bacon which we had brought with us,--what a feast we had, and what a good time! Then we would sing till the woods resounded; and our hearts beat fast for joy, the far-away echo of our song seemed so beautiful to us. So when it happened that the proprietor of the village, our old lord (God rest his soul!), chanced to meet me one day as he was hunting, took a fancy to me and ordered that I should be taken to the dwor where I should serve as a cossack, God only knows how sad this made me, and how I longed to be able to refuse to go."

      "Ah! So you have been in service at the dwor?"

      "All my life, my child, all my life."

      "And you have not been able to lay by anything for your old age?"

      "Wait a moment, my child. Surely I do not complain, though labour has not been so profitable to me as to many others. But if I had more than I have, what good would it do me? I should not eat with a better appetite; I should not sleep more peacefully. Listen now, and you will learn what I gained by such service. They carried me by force to the dwor. I was washed, combed, dressed, whether I would or not. I was obliged to stay where I was put, although my heart was ready to break. But after three or four days I began to acquire a fondness for work.

      "In fact, my work was not too hard; occupation was given me in the office until I should become sufficiently polished up to wait in the dining-room. The lord at that time was not an old man; he was tall and very handsome, had a fine mind and the best heart in the world. After hearing him speak only a few words, one could not help feeling that he was a man to be loved and respected; his appearance, his gestures, and his voice all bespoke the lord and master. If he were dressed in a cassock and a sukmane, one would recognize at once, though one should meet him in the dark, that God had created him to command others. But his commands were neither rough nor offensive to any one; he never spoke an angry word to his servants. When he was angry, he always kept silence, and his servants had the terrible punishment of seeing him refuse to speak to them and turn his face away from them. The home was like the master; not only the old cossack whose business it was to instruct me, but the other servants at the dwor were quiet, affable, and kind, and I soon grew accustomed to them.

      "It is true they put upon me a good deal of their drudgery; but only my legs suffered from the errands they sent me on, and I cannot recall ever being injured or maltreated. The old cossack often said in a low voice, 'He is a poor little boy, an orphan, and it would be too bad to hurt him.' Thus little by little I forgot the open-air life; and a few weeks after, meeting on the dam old Hindra, the shepherd, and my old companions, I contented myself with smiling at them from a distance and showing them my wide pantaloons with red bands, and I did not feel the least desire to rejoin them in the woods. My task was not at all severe. The lord wished to have me take care of his apartment, and it was for this duty that I was first trained. As for his own wants, he gave but little trouble to any one; usually he waited on himself, and showed the kindness of a father to those whose business it was to serve him. His old cossack was like a brother to him, and often scolded him for one thing or another."

      "Upon my word, he must have been a good lord."

      "Yes, he was, God bless him!" answered the old man, wiping his eyes, which were full of tears; "there are no more like him in this world. He was brother and father and everything to me. He lived over there, do you see, in the place where