# "Heavens!"/Chapter 11

XI.
That very same evening as many reports sprang up among the cottagers as there are blades of grass on a green bank between two fields. Young Kozman, having come home to his mother all out of breath, told her he had been to fetch the priest from Suchdol, because “something dreadfully particular” had happened at his house in Záluží. Mother Kozmanová ran with the piping-hot news to neighbour Vavrová, who in her turn went to Vavrus̓ková, and before nightfall the whole village was brimful with the news. A most extraordinarily feverish activity of mind set in at Záluz̓í. What “dreadfully particular thing” could it have been?
The soot could not have caught fire in the chimney, because there was nothing like that to be seen; and a thief as not very likely, either, to have broken into Father Cvok’s house, where there was nothing to be found but books—and books, every one knows, are not attractive to burglars.
Some curious people even went so far as to go round and round the priest’s house and the church—as a cat will go round a hot dish; but the house and church looked just as they always did. In the windows there was light as usual, only the blinds were down; otherwise ​it was all quiet—not even any louder talk was heard from it. The bricklayer’s wife asserted, it is true, that she heard some crying going on there; but that it could have been from a baby, even she did not take into her head, though she was chief gossip among all the others.
The morning threw some light upon the dark mystery and unravelled surprisingly what had puzzled the heads of all the cronies the night before.
After the morning Mass, the priest went out and met the village warden, Omoc̓il, going to the field with spade over his shoulder. He told him the story as invented by Naninka.
Omoc̓il was a sharp, shrewd fellow, and it did not escape him that the priest, who always looked every one straight in the face when he had anything to say, on this occasion turned his eyes away, and either looked down on the ground, or at some indifferent object. He listened in silence, and when Father Cvok had finished, he replied slowly and cautiously, in official tone—
“All I care for is this—that no charge or expense may come upon our community through the business; and therefore I must ask you, reverend sir, to declare before me and two witnesses that this child will never fall a burden on our parish.”
“Oh, that I will readily do for you,” answered the priest.
“Have you the baptismal certificate of the child?” inquired Omoc̓il.
“It was born in Prague on the first of last March, and baptized on the third of the same month in the church of St. Egidius, with the name Joseph.”
“And what is the name of its father?”
Here the priest grew red with embarrassment, and felt ​as if he was standing on burning coals. Neither he nor Janinka had once thought of the name.
Luckily, just at the moment a name came into his head—one something like Jenny’s own.
“Kac̓er—Joseph Kac̓er,” he said nervously.
The warden took cognizance of this announcement in a dignified manner, and then observed—
“Why need we put off till to-morrow what can easily be done to-day? There are Vávra and Macek going to the fields; they are both members of the corporation. Let us wait till they come up.”
When the two men drew near, he asked them to bear witness to the priest’s words, who then made the declaration before them, that the child, Joseph Kačer, should never fall a burden on the parish of Záluz̓í , but that he himself would undertake his support till such time as his father or mother came to take him again.
Thus Pepíc̓ek was, so to speak, officially introduced to Záluz̓í; but the more particular, private introduction was not done so quickly, and could not altogether be managed so simply. Female tongues began to be busy; first at home, then by degrees abroad. Though Father Cvok was generally liked in Záluz̓í, still he was not so much a favourite with the women as with the men. Trying at all times to promote real heartfelt piety among his flock, he at the same time showed himself, from the very beginning, averse to all narrow-minded bigotry and sanctimonious telling of beads. His predecessor had founded in Záluz̓í a sisterhood of the “Sacred Heart,” and held a particular service connected with it twice a week, in the afternoon. And, indeed, it must be said there never was a scarcity of butter, cheese, eggs, and all sorts of fowl in his house. But the new shepherd showed ​such lukewarmness and indolence regarding the society of the “Sacred Heart,” that the pious sisterhood soon began to decline, till at length it was broken up altogether.
The chief bead-teller of the village, therefore, did not like Father Cvok—reproached him secretly with want of piety, and only waited for an opportunity to find some real fault in him. But they found out, as time went on that the new priest led a pure and saintly life, and his sermons contained so much earnest Christian truth and charity, that even his most prejudiced female listeners became by degrees reconciled to him, though they never forgot that he had allowed the “Sacred Heart” to fall asleep.
Now, from the moment the news got abroad that an unknown woman had brought a baby to the priest’s house, it was as if a swarm of wasps had settled down among the sisterhood. They had no peace, and could neither think nor speak of anything else. At last they agreed in coming to the following verdict:—
“This is no such simple thing as they pretend it to be. There is surely something behind all that; but the truth will come out some day or other. Of course we must not be hasty, or speak at random; but some fine opportunity will be sure to come in time.”
“And sure enough it did come, and they had not very long to wait either.
About a week after Pepíc̓ek’s arrival there was a baptism in the church one afternoon. The midwife, a shrewd, cunning old dame, undertook to sound the mystery of “that brat” at the priest’s house properly. She was well acquainted with Naninka, and went to the kitchen to pay her a visit.
​“I’m coming to rest myself a bit with you,” she began at once, innocently; “and I’d like to see, too, how you get on with the baby from Prague.”
“Oh, dear nurse,” replied Naninka, “it’s curious enough for an old woman like me to have the care of such a thing, and not easy either. At first everything fell out of my hands almost; but I’m getting used to it now.”
“Does it sleep well? Has it a good digestion?”
“Thanks be to the Lord, it sleeps as if it had got poppy-drops, and has a little stomach that would almost digest nails, I do believe; but, you know, a poor person’s child is born with a hungry stomach.”
“That’s true; but gentlefolks’ children are not a bit different.”
”Naninka pricked up her ears at this, and thought in her heart, “I must take care not to let out anything to her.”
“But you haven’t even shown me the little brat.”
“Oh, you shall see him, by all means. A look costs nothing.”
“She drew the cover down from the baby, and the nurse, going to the cradle, stood at it for a few minutes, scrutinizing the child silently.
Naninka began to feel quite anxious.
“It’s as pretty as a picture,” said the nurse at last.
“All the girls in our family were pleasant to look at. My sister Mary was prettier than I; and her daughter, Pepíc̓ek’s mother, if she only had lady’s clothes on her, right got to any ball. The baby takes after its mother. It’s always the case.”
“Oh no; it is not always the case, Miss Naninka. If you had not told me, now, I’d never have believed that this was a poor woman’s child.”
​“Ah, you only say that to please me.”
“I give you my word, I don’t say it for that. And then just look at the things it has on! These are common baby-things! Even in gentlemen’s houses they have no better. These are beautiful patterns in the little cap and jacket. This niece of yours must be very clever at making such things.”
“Oh, they are not from her; it’s all the doing of the reverend father. The baby had only some old rags or things, that had been worn by my niece’s former babies. I could not help buying a few new things for the poor little worm. What could I do? I had left my wages for several years in the reverend father’s hands. The day before yesterday he went to town after Mass; I asked him to buy a few things for Pepíc̓ek, and you know yourself how it is when a man goes into a shop to buy anything; they press the best and dearest things at him, just to do a good stroke of business, and to screw a lot of money out of him.”
“He must have spent a great deal upon them.”
“You may be sure of that.”
“And is there nothing the matter with the child?”
“Nothing whatever; he seems as healthy as he can be. But if we should want you——”
“Oh, send for me any time it is necessary—even a midnight.”
The nurse went her way, and a great weight fell from Naninka’s mind as soon as she got rid of her. When the nurse reported the result of her visit to the “Sisters” they all shook their heads at the description of the fine baby-things; and the nurse promised, the very first time she went to the town, to inquire expressly if the priest of Záluz̓í had bought any baby-linen there.
​She knew there were only two shops of that kind in the town, and soon found an opportunity of making her inquiries in both places. The answer was that Father Cvok had bought nothing of the sort there. She asked other shops too, but only heard the same thing.
This was enough for the gossips; the flood-gates were opened.