glowing beauties to the sun's warm kisses; only the sluggard daisies, like fine ladies, were still asleep, under their dewdrop coverlets.
From far and wide the peasants flocked together, bearing the fruits of their fields and gardens to church; green-cheeked apples and pears, stony pumpkins and cucumbers, unwholesome and vicious- looking as yet, but which presently, by virtue of the blessing to be spoken over them, were to be rendered palatable and light of digestion. Sweet-smelling herbs bound together, and destined to be dried and hung up during the winter as a sort of general and vague specific against most human ailments, scented the air; huge sheaves of gaudy flowers, red and yellow and blue, rejoiced the eye and gave color and harmony to the scene. On they came from all sides and all directions: old, withered babas (old women), bending under the weight of crude green fruit; small, flaxen-haired children, clutching flower-bundles higher than themselves, till they looked like wandering blossoms; pretty girls of all types and complexions, bearing nosegays of all descriptions, — till all this roving vegetation had reached its goal, and had formed itself into one long, double-rowed, fragrant hedge, which filled the little wooden church, and from thence overflowing, extended beyond into the surrounding churchyard.
Magda, like the other village matrons, had gathered together her bundle of flowers and herbs. She was sorry to have no roses or carnations, to give an air of elegance to her sheaf, and she put on her shabby coral necklace with more than usual dissatisfaction that day. Nevertheless, if any true artist had happened to be spectator of the rustic tableau in the church, he would have singled her out as the study most worthy of attention.
The three years which had passed since Magda's wedding, had made of her a perfectly beautiful woman. Her tall figure had gained fulness and roundness; she had that naturally dignified and graceful carriage sometimes to be found in Polish peasants, but which few empresses are lucky enough to possess; her eyes had gained a deeper light, her lips had taken a richer curve. And there was this difference between Magda and the many other comely women in the crowd — that while they were adorned and embellished to-day by their floral decorations, in her case it seemed as though she herself, out of her own warm, glowing beauty, had imparted some of her charms to the flowers she had chosen. The poppies were only red because her crimson lips had touched them, the rosemary only sweet because she had breathed upon it; the burning sunflower on her breast seemed to have caught its hue from the hidden fire which flashed from her black eye.
No wandering artist had been led to Rudniki that day; but there are art connoisseurs in villages as well as in cities, and a beautiful picture will always find an amateur to appreciate it, even if it is marked in no catalogue and hangs in no gallery.
The blue, curling clouds of incense which filled the dingy wooden building caused the candles to burn low and dimly, and its perfume mingled with the sweet, aromatic scent of the flowers. With a supreme effort the sweating sacristan tore open the obstreperous gate, to give passage to the officiating priest on his way to bless the fruits of the field, and the much-talked-of-carpet was at last displayed before the eyes of the expectant crowd.
A long-drawn murmur of admiration went through the ranks, and for a minute every man held his candle crooked and dropped wax unmercifully on his neighbor's coat, and the women unconsciously relaxed their hold on their bundles till the unhallowed apples escaped from their grasp and went bounding away over the church floor, like godless babes escaping from the baptismal font.
Ah, that was a carpet! And those were flowers indeed! Such fine, well-fed lilac roses! such brilliant lilies! Each one looked down disparagingly at the common everyday flowers they held in their hands, and more than one thought what a pity it was that their cottage gardens could not yield such glorious specimens of botany.
The curé passed down the close-drawn flowery ranks of the kneeling crowd, sprinkling the dew of heaven to the right and to the left of him. Each head was bowed low and reverentially as he passed, and each flower-bearer held her bundle aloft and pressed forward, one against the other, till the little church resembled a waving sea of animated flowers.
Against Magda's bunch of scarlet poppies pressed the fair head of a handsome young soldier, and her black eyes were lowered not so much in prayer as to escape the audacious admiration so clearly to be read in a pair of blue ones. He was so near that she could feel his breath against her cheek, but she could not move away for the density of the pressing crowd.
