At that time Jalo was nearly three years old.
Jegor had been everybody’s most humble servant. Doubling up like a pocket-knife in his obsequiousness, he had treated his customers to tobacco and sbitin,[2] promised them unlimited credit, and thereby won all hearts. “You haven’t any money? Oh, that makes no difference—we’ll charge it; you can pay another time.” It was all so easy and simple, but when a year had gone by, Jegor’s account book was full, and all the insignificant entries were found to amount to an enormous sum.
If anybody needed a loan, who but Jegor had the money? True, he asked twelve per cent, but then there was no bothering with lawyers, judges, assessors, and such people. And who did not need money in these times? Everybody wanted it, and Christian, perhaps, most of all.
But when four years had passed, Jegor Timofitsch from being everybody’s servant had become everybody’s master. Now he carried his back as stiff as a ramrod; now he used a very different tone: “Lout, do you mean to sow rye? No, you must sow oats; I can’t sell rye in these times. You want money to buy a cow? You have scarcely enough feed for the one you own. No, that won’t do.”
He sold the peasant’s grain from the fields before it was mowed. He felled their woods for fuel and lumber, without any further ceremony than to notify them of his intention. And yet, how the terrible debt grew! It was as insatiable as the Moloch of the Philistines. Everything disappeared in its mighty jaws. It was never settled, in spite of all the sacrifices and payments in the shape of tar, wood, tallow, sheep, crabs, game-birds, and oats.
If any one had cause to suffer from this neighbor it was Christian. Their farms adjoined, and he knew better than all the rest what it means to be a debtor. It seemed as though the flesh was being gnawed from his body and the marrow sucked out of his bones. He often felt utterly defenseless against the cruel foe, and thought seriously of going out to beg his way from door to door, if only he could be a free man once more.
But in the hour of his sorest need help came. And his deliverer was Jalo, who had reached his sixth year at Michaelmas.
Oh, what an animal this Jalo was! His black coat shone like silk. Looking at his side, darker and lighter circles appeared on his back and thighs. What a tail, and what a mane he had, both so thick and long! His hoofs were like steel, his broad breast inhaled the air like bellows. His eyes were those of a sea-eagle. He not only saw at a distance, but in the mist, in the whirling snow, and in the dark. But of even greater worth than his strength and his beauty was his noble nature. He was proud. A blow from a whip was an insult that drove him nearly frantic. He was docile with all his strength, loving with all his spirit. And what a grateful heart he had! How he would rub his velvety muzzle on Christian’s arm when he offered him salt and bread, oats, or a bit of sugar. This animal was better than many a human being, certainly better than his disobedient daughter and his ungrateful son-in-law. Had anybody ever seen Jalo shy? Never—he would not fear Satan himself. Had he ever stumbled? Never, no matter how steep might be the descent of the hill. Everybody was obliged to admit that Jalo was the finest animal in all Finland. His equal could scarcely be found in Russia. When Christian’s debts weighed heavily upon him, when Moloch opened his jaws and demanded fresh sacrifices, Christian went to the stable, curried his Jalo, blackened his hoofs, braided his mane, and patted his back. And he always felt lighter-hearted.
When Jegor Timofitsch’s demands had gone far beyond Christian’s powers to meet, and he saw no way of shaking off this vampire, he harnessed Jalo into a light sleigh and set off for Wiborg, to consult a distinguished lawyer. He could not believe that Jegor had written things down correctly. His poor little purchases, some tobacco and grain, coffee and sugar, could never amount to so large a sum. Something was surely wrong, and there was Jegor’s usurious interest into the bargain!
How vividly he remembered that journey. It was a clear, cold day in January. The snow lay on the fields and meadows as smooth and level as the surface of the lake. The shadows of the fences, hayricks, and rollers lay like blue spots upon the white surface. The snow-birds hopped across the road, and the magpies chattered joyously as they ran up and down the fences. Sipi, the bear-dog, with pointed ears and woolly tail, dashed at full gallop before Jalo, who with a dainty movement of his hoofs, as if it were mere play, rushed forward at lightning speed. It was all so cheering that Christian’s depression began to pass away. He had almost reached the Papula quarter, when suddenly he heard some one calling and shouting. Taking the pipe from his mouth, he leaned out of the sleigh and looked behind him. A man in a little racing sleigh was following at full gallop, waving his hand in its fur-edged gauntlet glove. Christian stopped, and the traveler, a short, stout man dressed in furs, driving a mouse-colored horse, soon reached him.