Chapter LX
In the middle of September such cold days came that the Polanyetskis moved from Buchynek to their house in the city. Pan Stanislav, before the arrival of his wife, had the house aired and ornamented with flowers. It seemed to him, it is true, that he had lost the right to love her, but he had lost only his former freedom with reference to her; but perhaps, just because of this, he became far more attentive and careful. The right to love no one gives, and nothing can take away. It is another case when a man has fallen, and in presence of a soul incomparably more noble than his own, feels that he is not worthy to love; he loves then with humility, and does not dare to call his feeling by its name. What Pan Stanislav had lost really was his self-confidence, his commanding ways, and his former unceremoniousness in his treatment of his wife. At present in his intercourse with her he bore himself sometimes as if she were Panna Plavitski, and he a suitor not sure of his fate yet.
Still that uncertainty of his had the aspect of coldness at times. Finally, their relation, in spite of Pan Stanislav's increased care and efforts, had become more distant than hitherto. "I have not the right!" repeated Pan Stanislav, at every more lively movement of his heart. And Marynia at last observed that they were living now somehow differently, but she interpreted this to herself variously.
First, there were guests in the house, before whom, be what may, freedom of life must be diminished; second, that misfortune had happened to Pan Ignas,--a thing to shock "Stas" and carry his mind in another direction; and finally Marynia, accustomed now to various changes in his disposition, had ceased also to attach to them as much meaning as formerly.
Having gone through long hours of meditation and sadness, she came at last to the conviction that in the first period, while certain inequalities and bends of character are not accommodated into one common line, such various shades and changes in the disposition are inevitable, though transient. The sober judgment of Pani Bigiel helped her also to the discovery of this truth; she, on a time when Marynia began to praise her perfect accord with her husband, said,--
"Ai! it didn't come to that at once. At first we loved each other as it were more passionately, but we were far less fitted for each other; sometimes one pulled in one and the other in another direction. But because we both had honesty and good-will the Lord God saw that and blessed us. After the first child all went at once in the best way; and this day I wouldn't give my old husband for all the treasures of earth, though he is growing heavy, and when I persuade him to Karlsbad he will not listen to me."
"After the first child," inquired Marynia, with great attention. "Ah! I would have guessed at once that it was after the first child."
Pani Bigiel began to laugh.
"And how amusing he was when our first boy was born! During the first days he said nothing at all; he would only raise his spectacles to his forehead and look at him, as at some wonder from beyond the sea, and then come to me and kiss my hands."
The hope of a child was also a reason why Marynia did not take this new change in "Stas" to heart too much. First, she promised herself to enchant him completely both with the child, which she knew in advance would be simply phenomenal, and with her own beauty after sickness; and second, she judged that it was not permitted her to think of herself now, or even exclusively of "Stas." She was occupied in preparing a place for the coming guest, as well in the house, as in her affections. She felt that she must infold such a figure not only in swaddling clothes, but in love. Hence she accumulated necessary supplies. She said to herself at once that life for two living together might be changeable; but for three living together it could not be anything but happiness and the accomplishment of that expected grace and mercy of God.
In general, she looked at the future with uncommon cheerfulness. If, finally, Pan Stanislav was for her in some way a different person, more ceremonious, as it were, and more distant, he showed such delicacy as he had never shown before. The care and anxiety which she saw on his face she referred to his feeling for Pan Ignas, for whose life there was no fear, it is true, but whose misfortune she felt with a woman's heart, understanding that it might continue as long as his life lasted. The knowledge of this gave more than one moment of sadness to her, and to the Bigiels, and to all to whom Pan Ignas had become near.
Moreover, soon after the arrival of the Polanyetskis in the city, news came all at once from Ostend which threatened new complications. A certain morning Svirski burst into the counting-house like a bomb, and, taking Bigiel and Pan Stanislav to a separate room, said, with a mien of mysteriousness,--
"Do you know what has happened? Kresovski has just been at my studio, and he returned yesterday from Ostend. Osnovski has separated from his wife, and broken Kopovski's bones for him. A fabulous scandal! All Ostend is talking of nothing else."
Both were silent under the impression of the news; at last Pan Stanislav said,--
"That had to come sooner or later. Osnovski was blind."
"But I understand nothing," said Bigiel.
"An unheard of history!" continued Svirski. "Who could have supposed anything like it?"
"What does Kresovski say?"
"He says that Osnovski made an arrangement one day to go with some Englishmen to Blanckenberg to shoot dolphins. Meanwhile he was late at the railroad, or tramway. Having an hour's time before him, he went home again and found Kopovski in his house. You can imagine what he must have seen, since a man so mild was carried away, and lost his head to that degree that, without thinking of the scandal, he pounded Kopovski, so that Kopovski is in bed."
"He was so much in love with his wife that he might have gone mad even, or killed her," said Bigiel. "What a misfortune for the man!"
"See what women are!" exclaimed Svirski.
Pan Stanislav was silent. Bigiel, who was very sorry for Osnovski, began to walk back and forth in the room. At last he stopped before Svirski, and, thrusting his hands into his pockets, said,--
"But still I don't understand anything."
Svirski, not answering directly, said, turning to Pan Stanislav, "You remember what I said of her in Rome, when I was painting your wife's portrait? Old Zavilovski called her a crested lark. I understand how just that was; for a crested lark has another name,--'the soiler.' What a woman! I knew that she was not of high worth, but I did not suppose that she could go so far--and with such a man as Kopovski! Now I see various things more clearly. Kopovski was there all the time, as if courting Panna Castelli, then as if courting Panna Ratkovski; and of course he and the lady were in agreement, inventing appearances together. What a cheery life the fellow had! Castelli for dinner, and Pani Osnovski for dessert! Pleasant for such a man! Between those two women there must have been rivalry; one vying with the other in concessions to attract him to herself. You can understand that in such a place woman's self-esteem had small value."
"You are perfectly right," said Pan Stanislav. "Pani Osnovski was always most opposed to the marriage of Kopovski to Castelli; and very likely for that reason she was so eager to have her marry Pan Ignas. When, in spite of everything, Kopovski and Castelli came to an agreement, she went to extremes to keep Kopovski for herself. Their relation is an old story."
"I begin to understand a little," said Bigiel; "but how sad this is!"
"Sad?" said Svirski; "on the contrary. It was cheerful for Kopovski. Still, it was not. 'The beginning of evil is pleasant, but the end is bitter.' There is no reason to envy him. Do you know that Osnovski is hardly any weaker than I? for, through regard for his wife, he was afraid of growing fat, and from morning till evening practised every kind of exercise? Oh, how he loved her! what a kind man he is! and how sorry I am for him! In him that woman had everything,--heart, property, a dog's attachment,--and she trampled on everything. Castelli, at least, was not a wife yet."
"And have they separated really?"
"So really that she has gone. What a position, when a man like Osnovski left her! In truth, the case is a hard one."
But Bigiel, who liked to take things on the practical side, said, "I am curious to know what she will do, for all the property is his."
"If he has not killed her on the spot, he will not let her die of hunger, that is certain; he is not a man of that kind. Kresovski told me that he remained in Ostend, and that he is going to challenge Kopovski to a duel. But Kopovski will not rise out of bed for a week. There will be a duel when he recovers. Pani Bronich and Panna Castelli have gone away, too, to Paris."
"And the marriage with Kopovski?"
"What do you wish? In view of such open infidelity, it is broken, of course. Evil does not prosper; they, too, were left in the lurch. Ha! let them hunt abroad for some Prince Crapulescu[14]--for after what they have done to Ignas, no one in this country would take Castelli, save a swindler, or an idiot. Pan Ignas will not return to her."
"I told Pan Stanislav that, too," said Bigiel; "but he answered, 'Who knows?'"
"Ai!" said Svirski, "do you suppose really?"
"I don't know! I don't know anything!" answered Pan Stanislav, with an outburst. "I guarantee nothing; I guarantee nobody; I don't guarantee myself even."
Svirski looked at him with a certain astonishment.
"Ha! maybe that is right," said he, after a while. "If any one had told me yesterday that the Osnovskis would ever separate, I should have looked on him as a madman."
And he rose to take farewell; he was in a hurry to work, but wishing to hear more about the catastrophe of the Osnovskis, had engaged to dine with Kresovski. Bigiel and Pan Stanislav remained alone.
"Evil must always pay the penalty," said Bigiel, after some thought. "But do you know what sets me thinking? that the moral level is lowering among us. Take such persons as Bronich, Castelli, Pani Osnovski,--how dishonest they are! how spoiled! and, in addition, how stupid! What a mixture, deuce knows of what! what boundless pretensions! and with those pretensions the nature of a waiting-maid. So that it brings nausea to think of them, does it not? And men, such as Ignas and Osnovski, must pay for them."
"And that logic is not understood," answered Pan Stanislav, gloomily.
Bigiel began to walk up and down in the room again, clicking his tongue and shaking his head; all at once he stopped before Pan Stanislav with a radiant face, and, slapping him on the shoulder, said,--
"Well, my old man, thou and I can say to ourselves that we drew great prizes in life's lottery. We were not saints either; but perhaps the Lord God gave us luck because we have not undermined other men's houses like bandits."
Pan Stanislav gave no answer; he merely made ready to go.
Conditions had so arranged themselves lately that everything which took place around him, and everything which he heard, became, as it were, a saw, which was tearing his nerves. In addition, he had the feeling that that was not only terribly torturing and painful, but was beginning to be ridiculous also. At moments it came to his head to take Marynia and hide with her somewhere in some tumbledown village, if only far away from that insufferable comedy of life which was growing viler and viler. But he saw that he could not do that, even for this reason,--that Marynia's condition hindered it. He stopped, however, the bargaining for Buchynek, which had been almost finished, so as to find for himself a more distant and less accessible summer place. In general, relations with people began to weigh on him greatly; but he felt that he was in the vortex, and could not get out of it. Sometimes the former man rose in him, full of energy and freshness, and he asked himself with wonder, "What the devil! why does a fault which thousands of men commit daily, swell up in my case beyond every measure?" But the sense of truth answered straightway that as in medicine there are no diseases, only patients, so in the moral world there are no offences, only offenders. What one man bears easily, another pays for with his life; and he tried in vain to defend himself. For a man of principles, for a man who, barely half a year before, had married such a woman as Marynia, for a man whom fatherhood was awaiting, his offence was beyond measure; and it was so inexcusable, so unheard of, that at times he was amazed that he could have committed it. Now, while returning home under the impression of Osnovski's misfortune, and turning it over in his head in every way, he had again the feeling as if a part of the responsibility for what had happened weighed on him. "For I," said he to himself, "am a shareholder in that factory in which are formed such relations and such women as Castelli or Pani Osnovski." Then it occurred to him that Bigiel was right in saying that the moral level was lowering, and that the general state of mind which does not exclude the possibility of such acts is simply dangerous. For he understood that all these deviations flowed neither from exceptional misfortunes, nor uncommon passions, nor over-turbulent natures, but from social wantonness, and that the name of such deviations is legion. "See," thought he, "only in the circle of my acquaintances, Pani Mashko, Pani Osnovski, Panna Castelli; and over against them whom shall I place? My Marynia alone." And at that moment it did not occur to him that, besides Marynia, there were in his circle Pani Emilia, Pani Bigiel, Panna Helena, and Panna Ratkovski. But Marynia stood out before him on that ground of corruption and frivolity so unlike them, so pure and reliable, that he was moved to the depth of his soul by the mere thought of her. "That is another world; that is another kind," thought he. For a moment he remembered that Osnovski, too, had called his own wife an exception; but he rejected this evil thought immediately. "Osnovski deceived himself, but I do not deceive myself." And he felt that the skepticism which would not yield before Marynia would be not only stupid, but pitiable. In her there was simply no place for evil. Only swamp birds can sit in a swamp. He himself had said once in a jest to her, that if she wore heels, she would have inflammation of the conscience from remorse, because she was deceiving people. And there was truth in this jest; he saw her now just there before him as clearly as one always sees the person one thinks of with concentrated feeling. He saw her changed form and changed face, in which there remained always, however, that same shapely mouth, a little too wide, and those same clear eyes; and he was more and more moved. "Indeed, I did win a great prize in life's lottery," thought he; "but I did not know how to value it. 'Evil must always pay the penalty,' said Bigiel." And Pan Stanislav, to whom a similar thought had come more than once, felt now a superstitious fear before it. "There is," thought he, "a certain logic, in virtue of which evil returns, like a wave hurled from the shore, so that evil must return to me." And all at once it seemed to him perfectly impossible that he could possess such a woman in peace, and such happiness. Just in that was lacking the logic which commands the return of the wave of evil. And then what? Marynia may die at childbirth, for instance. Pani Mashko, through revenge, may say some word about him, which will stick in Marynia's mind, and in view of her condition, will emerge afterward in the form of a fever. Not even the whole truth is needed for that effect. On the contrary, Pani Mashko may boast even that she resisted his attempts. "And who knows," said Pan Stanislav to himself, "if Pani Mashko is not making a visit to Marynia this moment? in such an event the first conversation about men--and a few jesting words are sufficient."
Thinking thus, he felt that the cap was burning on his head; and he reached home with a feeling of alarm. At home he did not find Pani Mashko; but Marynia gave him a card from Panna Helena, asking him to come after dinner to see her.
"I fear that Ignas is worse," said Marynia.
"No; I ran in there for a moment in the morning. Panna Helena was at some conference with the attorney, Kononovich; but I saw Panna Ratkovski and Pan Ignas. He was perfectly well, and spoke to me joyously."
At dinner Pan Stanislav resolved to tell Marynia of the news which he had heard, for he knew that it could not be concealed from her anyhow, and he did not wish that it should be brought to her too suddenly and incautiously.
When she asked what was to be heard in the counting-house and the city, he said,--
"Nothing new in the counting-house; but in the city they are talking about certain misunderstandings between the Osnovskis."
"Between the Osnovskis?"
"Yes; something has happened in Ostend. Likely the cause of all is Kopovski."
Marynia flushed from curiosity, and asked,--
"What dost thou say, Stas?"
"I say what I heard. Thou wilt remember my remarks on the evening of Pan Ignas's betrothal? It seems that I was right; I will say, in brief, that there was a certain history, and, in general, that it was bad."
"But thou hast said that Kopovski is the betrothed of Panna Castelli."
"He has been, but he is not now. Everything may be broken in their case."
The news made a great impression on Marynia; she wanted to inquire further, but when Pan Stanislav told her that he knew nothing more, and that in all likelihood more detailed news would come in some days, she fell to lamenting the fate of Osnovski, whom she had always liked much, and was indignant at Pani Aneta.
"I thought," said she, "that he would change her, and attract her by his love; but she is not worthy of him, and Pan Svirski is right in what he says about women."
The conversation was interrupted by Plavitski, who, after an early dinner at the restaurant, had come to tell the "great news," which he had just heard, for all the city was talking of it. Pan Stanislav thought then that he had done well to prepare Marynia, for in Plavitski's narrative the affair took on colors which were too glaring. Plavitski mentioned, it is true, in the course of his story, "principles and matrons" of the old time; but apparently he was satisfied that something of such rousing interest had happened, and evidently he took the affair, too, from the comic side, for at the end he said,--
"But she is a mettlesome woman! she is a frolicker! Whoever was before her was an opponent! She let no man pass, no man! Poor Osnosio! but she let no man pass."
Here he raised his brows, and looked at Marynia and Pan Stanislav, as if wishing to see whether they understood what "no man" meant. But on Marynia's face disgust was depicted.
"Fe! Stas," said she, "how all that is not only dishonorable, but disgusting!"
FOOTNOTES:
[14] A fanciful Roumanian name formed from the French crapule, a debauchee.
Chapter LXI
After dinner Pan Stanislav went to Panna Helena's. Pan Ignas wore a black bandage on his forehead yet, with a wider plaster in the centre, covering a wound; he stuttered, and, when looking, squinted somewhat; but, in general, he was coming to himself more and more, and looked on himself as recovered already. The doctor asserted that those marks which remained from the wound yet were disappearing without a trace. When Pan Stanislav entered, the young man was sitting at a table in a deep armchair, in which old Pan Zavilovski used to sit formerly, and was listening with closed eyes to verses which Panna Ratkovski was reading. But she closed the book at sight of a visitor.
"Good-evening," said Pan Stanislav to her. "How art thou, Ignas? I see that I have interrupted a reading. In what are you so interested?"
Panna Ratkovski turned her closely-clipped head to the book,--her hair had been luxuriant before, but she cut it so as not to occupy time needed for the sick man,--and answered,--
"This is Pan Zavilovski's poetry."
"Thou art listening to thy own poetry?" said Pan Stanislav, laughing. "Well, how does it please thee?"
"I hear it as if it were not my own," replied Pan Ignas. After a while he added, speaking slowly, and stuttering a little, "But I shall write again as soon as I recover."
It was evident that this thought occupied him greatly, and that he must have mentioned it more than once; for Panna Ratkovski, as if wishing to give him pleasure, said,--
"And the same kind of beautiful verses, and not too long."
He smiled at her with gratitude, and was silent. But at that moment Panna Helena entered the room, and pressing Pan Stanislav's hand, said,--
"How well it is that you have come! I wanted to take counsel with you."
"I am at your service."
"I beg you to come to my room."
She conducted him to the adjoining room, indicated a chair to him, then, sitting down opposite, was silent, as if collecting her thoughts.
Pan Stanislav, looking at her under the lamp, noticed, for the first time, a number of silvery threads in her bright hair, and remembered that that woman was not thirty yet.
She began to speak in her cool and decisive voice,--
"I do not request counsel precisely, but assistance for my relative. I know that you are a real friend of his, and, besides, you have shown me so much kindness at the death of my father that I shall be grateful the rest of my life for it; and now I will speak more openly with you than with any one else. For personal reasons, which I will not touch, and of which I can only say that they are very painful, I have decided to create for myself other conditions of life,--conditions for me more endurable. I should have done so long since, but while my father was living I could not. Then Ignas's misfortune came. It seemed to me my duty not to desert the last relative bearing our name, for whom, besides, I have a heartfelt and real friendship. But now, thanks be to God! he is saved. The doctors answer for his life; and if God has given him exceptional capacities and predestined him to great things, nothing stands in the way of his activity."
Here she stopped, as if she had fallen to thinking suddenly of something in the future, after which, when she had roused herself, she spoke on,--
"But by his recovery my last task is finished, and I am permitted to return to my original plan. There remains only the property of which my father left a considerable amount, and which would be altogether useless to me in my coming mode of life. If I could consider this property my own personally, I might dispose of it otherwise, perhaps; but since it is family property, I consider that I have no right to devote it to foreign objects while any one of the family is alive who bears the name. I do not conceal from you that attachment to my cousin moves me; but I judge that I do above all that which conscience commands, and besides carry out the wish of my father, who did not succeed in writing his will, but who--I know with all certainty--wished to leave a part of his property to Ignas. I have provided for myself not in the degree which my father thought of doing, but still I take more than I need. Ignas inherits the rest. The act of conveyance has been written by Pan Kononovich according to all legal rules. It includes this house, Yasmen, the property in Kutno, the estates in Poznan and the moneys with the exception of that portion which I have retained for myself, and a small part which I have reserved for Panna Ratkovski. It is a question now only of delivering this document to Ignas. I have asked two doctors if it is not too early, and if the excitement might not harm him. They assure me that it is not too early, and that every agreeable news may only act on his health beneficially. This being the case, I wish to finish the matter at once, for I am in a hurry."
Here she smiled faintly. Pan Stanislav, pressing her hand, asked, with unfeigned emotion,--
"Dear lady, I do not inquire through curiosity, What do you intend?"
Not wishing evidently to give an explicit answer, she said,--
"A person has the right always to take refuge under the care of God. As to Ignas, he has an honest heart and a noble character, which will not be injured by wealth; but the property is very considerable, and he is young, inexperienced; he will begin life in conditions changed altogether,--hence I wish to ask you, as a man of honor and his friend, to have guardianship over him. Care for him, keep him from evil people, but above all remind him that his duty is to write and work further. For me it was a question, not only of saving his life, but his gifts. Let him write; let him pay society, not for himself only, but for those too whom God created for His own glory and the assistance of men, but who destroyed both themselves and their gifts."
Here her lips became pale on a sudden, her hands closed, and the voice stopped in her throat. It might seem that the despair accumulated in her soul would break all bounds immediately; but she mastered herself after a while, and only her clinched hands testified what the effort was which that action had cost her.
Pan Stanislav, seeing her suffering, judged that it would be better to turn her thought in another direction, toward practical and current affairs; hence he said,--
"Evidently this will be an unheard of change in the life of Ignas; but I too hope that it will result only in good. Knowing him, it is difficult to admit another issue. But could you not defer the act for a year, or at least half a year?"
"Why?"
"For reasons which do not lie in Ignas himself, but which might have connection with him. I do not know whether the news has reached you that the marriage of Panna Castelli to Kopovski is broken, and that the position of those ladies is tremendously awkward in consequence. Through breaking with Ignas, they have made public opinion indignant, and now their names are on people's tongues again. It would be for them a perfect escape to return to Ignas; and it is possible to suppose that when they learn of your gift, they will surely attempt this, and it is unknown whether Ignas, especially after so short an interval, and weakened as he is, might not let himself be involved by them."
Panna Helena looked at Pan Stanislav with brows contracted from attention, and, dwelling on what he said, she answered,--
"No. I judge that Ignas will choose otherwise."
"I divine your thought," said Pan Stanislav; "but think,--he was attached to that other one beyond every estimate, to such a degree that he did not wish to outlive the loss of her."
Here something happened which Pan Stanislav had not expected, for Panna Helena, who had always such control of herself and was almost stern, opened her thin arms in helplessness, and said,--
"Ah, if that were true,--if there were not for him any other happiness save in her! Oh, Pan Polanyetski, I knew that he ought not to do that; but there are things stronger than man, and they are things which he needs for life absolutely--and besides--"
Pan Stanislav looked at her with astonishment; after a while she added,--
"Besides, while one lives, one may enter on a better road any moment."
"I did not suppose that I should hear anything like this from her," thought Pan Stanislav. And he said aloud,--
"Then let us go to Ignas."
Pan Ignas received the news first with amazement, and then with delight; but that delight was as if external. It might be supposed that, by the aid of his brain, he understood that something immensely favorable had met him, and that he had told himself that he must be pleased with it, but that he did not feel it with his heart. His heart declared itself only in the care and interest with which he asked Panna Helena what she intended to do with herself, and what would become of her. She was not willing to answer him, and stated, in general terms, that she would withdraw from the world, and that her resolve was unchangeable. She implored of him this, which clearly concerned her most, not to waste his powers and disappoint people who were attached to him. She spoke as a mother, and he, repeating, "I will write again the moment I recover," kissed her hands and had tears in his eyes. It was not known, however, whether those tears meant sympathy for her, or the regret of a child abandoned by a good and kind nurse; for Panna Helena told him that from that moment she considered herself a guest in his house, and in two days would withdraw. Pan Ignas would not agree to this, and extorted the promise from her to remain a week longer. She yielded at last, through fear of exciting him and injuring his health. Then he grew calm, and was as gladsome as a little boy whose prayer has been granted. Toward the end of the evening, however, he grew thoughtful, as if remembering something, looked around with astonished eyes on those present, and said,--
"It is wonderful, but it seems to me as if all this had happened before some time."
Pan Stanislav, wishing to give a more cheerful tone to the conversation, asked, laughing,--
"Was it during previous existences on other planets? It was, was it not?"
"In that way everything might have happened some other time," said Pan Ignas.
"And you have written the very same verses already--on the moon?"
He took up a book lying on the table, looked at it, grew thoughtful, and said at last,--
"I will write again, but when I recover completely."
Pan Stanislav took farewell and went out. That evening Panna Ratkovski removed to her little chamber at Pani Melnitski's.
Chapter LXII
The separation of the Osnovskis, who in social life occupied a position rather prominent, and the great fortune which fell on a sudden to Pan Ignas, were the items of news with which the whole city was occupied. People who supposed that Panna Helena had taken the young man to her house to marry him were stunned from amazement. New gossip and new suppositions rose. People began to whisper that Pan Ignas was a son of old Zavilovski; that he had threatened his sister with a law-suit for concealing the will; that she chose to renounce all and go abroad rather than be exposed to a scandalous law-suit. Others declared that the cause of her departure was Panna Ratkovski; that between those two young ladies scenes had taken place unparalleled,--scenes to arouse indignation. In consequence of this, self-respecting houses would not permit Panna Ratkovski to cross their thresholds. There were others, too, who, appearing in the name of public good, refused simply to Panna Helena the right of disposing of property in that fashion, giving at the same time to understand that they would have acted more in accord with public benefit.
In a word, everything was said that gossip and meddling and frivolity and low malice could invent. Soon new food for public curiosity arrived under the form of news of a duel between Osnovski and Kopovski, in which Osnovski was wounded. Kopovski returned to Warsaw soon after with the fame of a hero of uncommon adventures in love and arms,--stupider than ever, but also more beautiful, and in general so charming that at sight of him hearts young and old began to beat with quickened throb.
Osnovski, wounded rather slightly, was under treatment in Brussels. Svirski received from him a brief announcement soon after the duel, that he was well, that in the middle of winter he would go to Egypt, but, before that, would return to Prytulov. The artist came to Pan Stanislav with this news, expressing at the same time the fear that Osnovski was returning only to avenge his wrongs afresh on Kopovski.
"For I am sure," said he, "that if he is wounded, it is because he permitted it. According to me, he wished to die simply. I have shot with him more than once at Brufini's, and know how he shoots. I have seen him hit matches, and am convinced that had he wished to blow out Koposio, we shouldn't see him to-day."
"Perhaps not," answered Pan Stanislav; "but since he talks of going to Egypt, 't is clear that he does not intend to let himself be killed. Let him go, and let him take Pan Ignas."
"It is true that Pan Ignas ought to see the world a little. I should like to go from here to see him. How is he?"
"I will go with you, for I have not seen him to-day. He is well, but somehow strange. You remember what a proud soul he was, shut up in himself. Now he is in good health, as it were, but has become a little child; at the least trouble there are tears in his eyes."
After a while the two went out together.
"Is Panna Helena with Pan Ignas yet?" inquired Svirski.
"She is. He takes her departure to heart so much that she has pity on him. She was to go away in a week; now, as you see, the second week has passed."
"What does she wish specially to do with herself?"
"She says nothing precise on this point. Probably she will enter some religious order and pray all her life for Ploshovski."
"But Panna Ratkovski?"
"Panna Ratkovski is with Pani Melnitski."
"Did Pan Ignas feel her absence much?"
"For the first days. Afterward he seemed to forget her."
"If he does not marry her in a year, I will repeat my proposal. As I love God, I will. Such a woman, when she becomes a wife, grows attached to her husband."
"I know that in her soul Panna Helena wishes Ignas to marry Panna Ratkovski. But who knows how it will turn out?"
"I am sure that he will marry her; what I say is the imagining of a weak head. I shall not marry."
"My wife said that you told her that yesterday; but she laughed at the threat."
"It is not a threat; it is only this, that I have no happiness."
Their conversation was interrupted by the coming of a carriage, in which were Pani Kraslavski and Pani Mashko. Those ladies were going in the direction of the Alley, wishing evidently to take the air. The day was clear, but cold; and Pani Mashko was so occupied with drawing a warm cloak on her mother that she did not see them, and did not return their salutation.
"I called on them the day before yesterday," said Svirski. "She is a kindly sort of woman."
"I hear that she is a very good daughter," answered Pan Stanislav.
"I noticed that when I was there; but, as is usual with an old sceptic, it occurred to me at once that she finds pleasure also in the rôle of a careful daughter. Do you not see women often doing good of some special sort because they think that it becomes them?"
And Svirski was not mistaken. In fact, Pani Mashko found pleasure in the rôle of a self-sacrificing daughter. But that itself was very much, since such a satisfaction flowed still from real attachment to her mother, and because at sight of her misfortune something was roused in the woman, something quivered. At the same time Svirski did not wish, or did not know how, to draw this further conclusion from his thoughts: that as in the domain of the toilet a woman in addition to a new hat needs a new cloak, a new dress, new gloves, so in the domain of good deeds once she has taken up something she wants to be fitted out anew from head to foot. In this way the rebirth of a woman is never quite impossible.
Meanwhile they arrived at Pan Ignas's, who received them with delight; because, for some time past, the sight of people gave him pleasure, as it does usually to patients returning to life. When he had learned from Svirski that the latter would go soon to Italy, he began to insist that he should take him.
"Ah, ha!" thought Svirski; "then somehow Panna Ratkovski is not in thy head?"
Pan Ignas declared that he had been thinking long of Italy; that nowhere else would he write as there, under those impressions of art, and those centuries crumbling into ruins entwined with ivy. He was carried away and pleased by that thought; hence the honest Svirski agreed without difficulty.
"But," said he, "I cannot stay long there this time, for I have a number of portraits to paint in this city; and, besides, I promised Pan Stanislav to return to the christening." Then he turned to Pan Stanislav,--
"Well, what is it finally, the christening of a son or a daughter?"
"Let it be what it likes," answered Pan Stanislav, "if only, with God's will, in good health."
And while the other two began to plan the journey, he took farewell, and went to his counting-house. He had a whole mail from the previous day to look over, so, shutting himself in, he began to read letters, and dictate to a writer in short-hand those which touched affairs needing immediate transaction. After a while, however, a newly hired servant interrupted his labor by announcing that some lady wished to see him.
Pan Stanislav was disturbed. It seemed to him, it is unknown why, that this could be no other than Pani Mashko; and, foreseeing certain explanations and scenes, his heart began to beat unquietly.
Meanwhile the laughing and glad face of Marynia appeared in the door most unexpectedly.
"Ah, well, haven't I given a surprise?" inquired she.
Pan Stanislav sprang up at sight of her, with a feeling of sudden and immense delight, and, seizing her hands, began to kiss them, one after the other.
"But, my dear, this is really a surprise!" said he. "Whence did it come to thy head to look in here?"
And thus speaking, he pushed an armchair toward her, and seated her as a dear and honored guest; from his radiant face it was evident what pleasure her presence was giving him.
"I have something curious to show thee," said Marynia; "and because I must walk a good deal, anyhow, I came in. And thou, what didst thou think? Whom didst thou look for? Own up, right away!"
Thus speaking, she began to threaten him while laughing; but he answered,--
"So much business is done here, in every case I didn't think it was thou. What hast thou to show?"
"See what a letter I have!"
DEAR AND BELOVED LADY,--It will astonish you perhaps that I turn to you; but you, who are to become a mother soon, are the only person on earth who will understand what must take place in the heart of a mother--even if she is only an aunt--who sees her child's unhappiness. Believe me it is a question for me of nothing else than bringing even temporary relief to an unhappy child; and it interests me the more, that in all this that has happened I myself am to blame chiefly. Perhaps these words too will astonish you, but it is the case. I am to blame. If a bad and spoilt man, at the moment when Nitechka was tottering and losing her balance, dared to touch her with his unworthy lips, I should not have lost my head and sacrificed the child. Indeed, Yozio Osnovski is to blame too: he put the question of marriage on a sharp knife; he suspected something and wanted to rid his house of Kopovski. May God forgive him, for it is not proper to defend one's self at the cost of another's happiness and life. My dear lady! it seemed to me at the first moment that the only issue was marriage with the unworthy Kopovski, and that Nitechka had no longer the right to become the wife of Ignas. I wrote even purposely to Ignas that she followed the impulse of her heart, and that she would give her hand to Kopovski with attachment; and I thought that in this way Ignas would bear the loss of her more easily, and I wanted to decrease his pain. Nitechka for Kopovski! The merciful God did not permit that; and when I too saw that that union would have been death for Nitechka, we were thinking only of this, how to be free of those bonds. It is no longer a question for me of returning to former relations, for Nitechka too has lost faith in people and in life, so that probably she would never be willing to agree to a return. She does not even know that I am writing this letter. If the beloved lady had seen how Nitechka has paid for all this with her health, and how terribly she felt the act of Pan Ignas, she would have pitied her. Pan Ignas should not have done what he has done, even out of regard for Nitechka; alas! men in such cases count only with their own wishes. She is as much to blame in all this as a newly born infant; but I see how she melts before my eyes, and how from morning till evening she is grieving because she was the unconscious cause of his misfortune, and might have broken his life. Yesterday, with tears in her eyes, she begged me in case of her death to be a mother to Ignas, and to watch over him as over my own son. Every day she says that maybe he is cursing her, and my heart is breaking, for the doctor says that he answers for nothing if her condition continues. O God of mercy! but come to the aid of a despairing mother; let me know even from time to time something about Ignas, or rather write to me that he is well, that he is calm, that he has forgotten her, that he is not cursing her, so that I might show her that letter and bring her even a little relief from her torture. I feel that I am writing only in half consciousness, but you will understand what is taking place in me, when I look on that unhappy sacrifice. God will reward you and I will pray every day that your daughter, if God gives you a daughter, be happier than my poor Nitechka.
"What is thy thought about that?" inquired Marynia.
"I think," said Pan Stanislav, "that news of the change in Pan Ignas's fortune has spread rather widely; and second, I think that this letter, sent to your address, is directed really to Ignas."
"That may be. It is not an honest letter; but still they may be very unhappy."
"It is certain that their position cannot be pleasant. Osnovski was right when he wrote that there is even for Pani Bronich an immense disappointment in all this, and that she is trying vainly to deceive herself. As for Panna Castelli, you know what Svirski told me? I do not repeat to thee his words literally; but he said that now only a fool, or a man without moral value, would marry her. They understand this themselves, and certainly it is not pleasant for them. Perhaps, too, conscience is speaking; but still, see how many dodges there are in that letter. Do not show it to Ignas."
"No, I will not," answered Marynia, whose warmest wishes were on the side of Panna Ratkovski.
And Pan Stanislav, following the thought which was digging into him for some time past, repeated to her, word for word almost, what he had repeated to himself,--
"There is a certain logic which punishes, and they are harvesting what they sowed. Evil, like a wave, is thrown back from the shore and returns."
Hereupon Marynia began to draw figures on the floor with her parasol, as if meditating on something; then, raising her clear eyes to her husband, she said,--
"It is true, my Stas, that evil returns; but it may return, too, as remorse and sorrow. In that case the Lord God is satisfied with such penance, and punishes no further."
If Marynia had known what was troubling him, and wanted to soften his suffering, and console the man, she could not have found anything better than those few simple words. For some time Pan Stanislav had been oppressed by a foreboding that some misfortune must meet him, and he was in ceaseless fear of it. From her only did he learn that his sorrow and remorse might be that returning wave. Yes, he had had no little remorse, and sorrow had not been wanting in him; he felt, too, that if suffering might and could be a satisfaction, he would be ready to suffer twice as grievously. Now a desire took him to seize in his arms that woman full of simplicity and honesty, from whom so much good came to him; and if he did not do so, it was only from fear of emotions for her, and out of regard for her condition, and that indecision which fettered him in his relations with her. But he raised her hand to his lips, and said,--
"Thou art right, and art very kind."
She, pleased with the praise, smiled at him, and began to prepare for home.
When she had gone, Pan Stanislav went to the window, and followed her with his eyes. From afar he saw her curved form advancing with heavy step, her dark hair peeping from under her hat; and in that moment he felt with new force, greater than ever, that she was the dearest person in the world to him, and that he loved her only, and would love her till his death.
Chapter LXIII
Two days later Pan Stanislav received a note from Mashko, containing a few words of farewell.
"I go to-day," wrote he. "I shall try absolutely to run in once more to thee; but in every case I bid thee farewell, and thank thee for all proofs of friendship which thou hast shown me. May the Lord God prosper thee better than He has prospered me so far! I should like to see thee, even for a moment; and if I can, I shall run in about four o'clock. Meanwhile I repeat the request to remember my wife, and protect her a little when people drop her. I pray thee also to defend me before her against people's tongues. I am going to Berlin at nine in the evening, and quite openly. Till we meet again I and in every case, be well,--and once more, thanks for everything.
"MASHKO."
Pan Stanislav went to the counting-house about four, but he waited beyond an hour in vain. "He will not come," thought he, at last; "so much the better." And he went home with the feeling of satisfaction that he had succeeded in avoiding a disagreeable meeting. But in the evening a species of pity for Mashko began to move him: he thought that the man had gone by a bad and feverish road, it is true; but he had had his fill of torment and tearing, and in the end had paid dearly; that all which had happened was to be foreseen long before; and if those who foresaw it had associated with him, and received him at their houses, they ought not to show him contempt in the day of his downfall. He knew, too, that he should give Mashko pleasure by his appearance at the station; and after a moment of hesitation he went.
On the road he remembered that likely he should find Pani Mashko, too, at the station; but he knew that in any event he must meet her, and he judged that to withdraw because of her would be a kind of vain cowardice. With these thoughts he went to the station.
In the hall of the first class, which is not large, there were several persons, and on the tables whole piles of travelling-cases, but nowhere could he see Mashko; and only after he had looked around carefully did he recognize in a young veiled lady, sitting in one corner of the hall, Pani Mashko.
"Good-evening," said he, approaching her. "I have come to say good-by to your husband. Where is he?"
She bowed slightly, and answered, with the thin, cold voice usual to her,--
"My husband is buying tickets."
"How tickets? Are you going with him?"
"No; my husband is buying a ticket."
Further conversation under these conditions seemed rather difficult; but, after a while, Mashko appeared in company with a railway servant, to whom he gave the ticket and money, with the order to check the baggage. Wearing a long travelling overcoat and a soft silk cap, he looked, with his side whiskers and gold glasses, like some travelling diplomat. Pan Stanislav deceived himself, too, in thinking that Mashko would show uncommon delight at his coming. Mashko, when he saw him, said, it is true, "Oh, how thankful I am that thou hast come!" but, as it were, with a kind of indifference, and with the hurry usual to people who are going on a journey.
"Everything is checked," said he, looking around the hall. "But where are my hand packages? Ah, here they are! Good!"
Then he turned to Pan Stanislav, and said,--
"I thank thee for having come. But do me still one kindness, and conduct my wife home; or, at least, go out with her, and help her to find a carriage. Terenia, Pan Polanyetski will take thee home. My dear friend, come one moment; I have something more to say to thee."
And, taking Pan Stanislav aside, he began to speak feverishly,--
"Take her home without fail. I have given a plausible form to my journey; but do thou say to her, so, in passing, that thou art surprised that I am going such a short time before the calling of the will case, for if any event should detain me, the case must be lost. I wanted to go to thy house just to ask this of thee; but, as thou knowest, on the day of a journey--The case will come up in a week. I shall fall ill; my place will be taken by my assistant, a young advocate, a beginner, and of course he will lose. But the affair will be plausible through my illness. I have secured my wife; everything is in her name, and they will not take one glass from her. I have a plan which I shall lay before a shipbuilding company in Antwerp. If I make a contract, timber will rise in price throughout this whole country; but who knows, in that case, if I shall not return, for the whole affair of Ploshov is a trifle in comparison with this business? I cannot speak more in detail. Were it not for the grievous moments which my wife must pass, I should keep regret away; but that just throttles me."
Here he touched his throat with his hand, and then spoke still more hurriedly,--
"Misfortune fell on me; but misfortune may fall on any man. For that matter, it is too late to speak of this. What has been, has been; but I did what I could, and I shall do yet what I can. And this, too, is a relief to me,--that thou wilt get thy own even from Kremen. If I had time to tell thee what I have in mind, thou couldst see that it would not come to the head of every man. Maybe I shall have business even with thy firm. I do not give up, as thou seest--I have secured my wife perfectly. Well, it's over, it's over! Another in my place might have ended worse. Might he not? But let us return to my wife now."
Pan Stanislav listened to Mashko's words with a certain pain. He wondered, it is true, at his mental fertility; but at the same time he felt that in him there was lacking that balance which makes the difference between a man of enterprise and an enterprising adventurer. It seemed to him, too, that there was in Mashko already something of the future worn-out trickster, who will struggle for a long time yet, but who, with his plans, will be falling lower and lower till he ends, with boots worn on one side, in a second-rate coffee-house, telling, in a circle of the same kind of "broken men," of his former greatness. He thought, also, that the cause of all this was a life resting to begin with on untruth; and that Mashko, with all his intelligence, can never work himself out of the fetters of falsehood.
See, he pretends yet, and even before his wife. He had to do so; but when the hall began to fill with people, some acquaintances stepped up to greet the two men, and exchange a couple of such hurried phrases as are used at railroads. Mashko answered them with such a tinge of loftiness and favor that anger seized Pan Stanislav. "And to think," said he, "that he is fleeing from his creditors! What would happen were that man to reach fortune?"
But now the bell sounded, and beyond the window was heard the hurried breath of the engine. People began to move about and hasten.
"I am curious to know what is going on in him now?" thought Pan Stanislav.
But even at that moment Mashko could not free himself from the bonds of lying. Maybe his heart was straitened by an evil foreboding: maybe he had a gleam of second sight, that that wife whom he loved he should never see again; that he was going to want, to contempt, to fall; but it was not permitted him to show what he felt, or even to say farewell to his wife as he wished.
The second bell sounded. They went out on the platform, and Mashko stood still a wile before the sleeping-car. The gleam of the lamp fell directly on his face, on which two small wrinkles appeared near the month. But he spoke calmly, with the tone of a man whom business constrains to a few days' absence, but who is sure that he will return.
"Well, till we meet again, Terenia! Kiss mamma'a hands for me, and be well. Till we meet, till we meet!"
Thus speaking, he raised her hand, which, moreover he kept long at his lips. Pan Stanislav, going aside a little by design, thought,--
"They see each other now for the last time. In some half year a separation in form will follow."
And the peculiar lot of those two women struck him, the same for mother and daughter. Both married with great appearances of brilliancy; and the husbands of both had to run away from their domestic hearths, leaving only shame to their wives.
But now the bell sounded the third time. Mashko entered. For a while, in the wide pane of the sleeping-car, his side whiskers were visible, and his gold-rimmed eye-glasses; then the train pushed out into darkness.
"I am at your service," said Pan Stanislav to Pani Mashko.
He was almost certain that she would thank him dryly for his society, and reject it; he was even angry, for the reason that he had determined to tell her not only something about her husband, but something from himself. But she inclined her head in agreement; she, too, had her plan. So much bitter dislike for Pan Stanislav and such a feeling of offence had been rising in her heart for a long time, that, thinking him likely to take advantage again of a moment which they were to pass together, she determined to give him a slap which he would remember for many a day.
But she was mistaken altogether. First, through her he had been crushed as ice is crushed against a cliff, and therefore for some time he had felt for her not only dislike, but even hatred. Second, if later, through a feeling of conviction that the fault was on his side exclusively, that hatred had passed, then he had changed so much that he had become almost entirely another man. His mercantile reckoning with himself had taught him that such transgressions are paid for too dearly; he was in a phase of immense desire for a life without deceit; and finally remorse and sorrow had eaten up desire in him as rust eats up iron. When assisting her into the carriage, and when he touched her shoulder, he remained calm; and when he had taken his seat, he began at once to speak of Mashko, for he judged that through a feeling of humanity alone he ought to prepare her for the coming catastrophe, and soften its significance.
"I wonder at the daring of your husband," said he. "Let one bridge fall on the road during his stay in Berlin, he will not be able to return to the will case, on which, as you know, of course, all his fate depends. He must have gone for important reasons; but it is always hazardous to act thus."
"The bridges are strong," answered Pani Mashko.
But he, unconquered by that not over-encouraging answer, spoke on, drawing aside before her gradually the curtain of the future; and he spoke so long that while he was talking they arrived before the Mashko dwelling. Then she, not understanding the meaning of his words evidently, and angry, perhaps, that she had not had the chance to give him the intended blow, said, when she had stepped out of the carriage,--
"Had you any personal object in disquieting me?"
"No," answered Pan Stanislav, who saw that the moment had come to tell her that which he had resolved to say from himself. "In relation to you, I have only one object,--to declare that, with reference to you, I have offended unworthily, and that from my whole soul I beg your pardon."
But the young woman went into her house without answering a single word. Pan Stanislav, to the end of his life, did not know whether that was the silence of hatred or forgiveness.
Still he returned home with a certain encouragement, for it seemed to him that he ought to have acted thus. In his eyes that was a small act of penitence; it was all one to him how Pani Mashko understood him. "Maybe she judged," said he to himself, "that I begged pardon of her for my subsequent treatment; in every case I shall be able to look her more boldly in the eyes now."
And in that thought of his there was undoubtedly some selfishness; but there was also the will to escape from the toils.
Chapter LXIV
Panna Helena, also, before her departure, received a letter from Pani Bronich, in the style of that which Marynia had received, and, like Marynia, she did not show it to Pan Ignas. Besides, Pan Ignas went away with Svirski a week later without visiting any acquaintance except Panna Ratkovski. Svirski, in person, kept him from all visits; and Pan Stanislav, in conversations with his wife, declared that he had acted rightly. "At present," said he, "it would be disagreeable both for Ignas, and for us. Those who saw him every day are different, for they are used to him; but no one else could refrain from looking at the scar which is left on his forehead. Besides, Ignas has changed very much. During the journey he will recover perfectly; on his return we shall receive him as if nothing had happened; and strangers will see in him, above all, a wealthy young lord."
And it might have been so in reality. But meanwhile, there was loneliness around the Polanyetskis, because of that departure. Their circle of acquaintances had scattered on all sides. Osnovski remained still in Brussels; where Pani Aneta had gone no one knew. Pani Bronich and Panna Castelli were in Paris; there was no one at Yasmen. Pani Kraslavski and her daughter shut themselves in, and lived only for each other; and finally sickness had confined to her bed poor Pani Emilia, once and forever.
There remained only the Bigiels and the professor. But he was sick, too, and, moreover, he had become so peculiar that strangers considered him a lunatic. Some said with a certain irony that a man who thinks that the spirit of Christianity will penetrate into politics as it has into private life, must be indeed of sound mind. He began himself to think about death, and to make preparations for it. Frequently he repeated to Pan Stanislav his desire to die "in the ante-chamber to the other world," and in view of that was preparing for Rome. But since he loved Marynia greatly, he wished to wait till after her sickness.
In this way time passed in great seclusion for the Polanyetskis. It was for that matter necessary for Marynia, who in recent days had felt very ill, and necessary for her state of feeling. Pan Stanislav worked over business in the counting-house, and over himself; he was working out in himself a new man, and watching over his wife. She, too, was preparing herself for a new epoch in life; and she was preparing herself gladly, for it seemed to her that what she did would act upon both of them. Pan Stanislav became daily less absolute in some way, more condescending in his judgments of people, and milder, not only in relation to her, but in relation to all persons with whom life brought him into contact. He surrounded her with exceptional, with thoughtful care; and though she supposed that this care had in view not so much her person as the child, she recognized this as proper, and was grateful. She was astonished at times by a kind of timidity and, as it were, hesitation in his treatment of her; but not being able to divine that he was simply curbing his feeling for her, she ascribed such exhibitions to "Stas's" fear as to whether all would end well in her case.
Whole weeks passed in this manner. Their monotony was broken sometimes by a letter from Svirski, who, when he could seize a free moment, reported what he could of himself and Pan Ignas. In one of those letters he inquired in Pan Ignas's name if Pani Polanyetski would permit him to send a description of his impressions in the form of letters to her. "I spoke with him of this in detail," wrote Svirski. "He contends first that it might be agreeable to the lady to have echoes from a land which has left her so many pleasant memories; and second, that it would lighten his work greatly were he to write as if privately. He is well; he walks, eats, and sleeps perfectly. Every evening I see too that he sits at his desk and prepares to write. I concluded that he was trying poetry, also. Somehow it does not succeed, for he has not written anything yet, so far as I know. I suppose, however, that all will come out by degrees, and in season. Meanwhile the form of letters would lighten his work, perhaps, really. I will add in conclusion that he mentions Panna Helena with immense gratitude; and at every mention of Panna Ratkovski, his eyes become bright. I speak of her to him frequently, for what can I, poor man, do? When anything is not predestined, there is no help in the case; and when it is written down to a man that he must remain like a stake in a hedge, he will not put forth leaves in spring even."
In the middle of November a letter came from Rome, which roused much thought in the Polanyetskis. Svirski wrote as follows:--
"Imagine to yourselves that Pani Bronich is here and Panna Castelli, and that I have had an interview with them. In Rome I am as if at home; hence I learned of their coming on the second day. And do you know what I did immediately? I persuaded Ignas to go to Sicily, in which, moreover, I found no great difficulty. I thought to myself, 'he will sit in Syracuse or in Taormina; and if by chance he falls into the hands of the Mafia the cost of his ransom will be less than what he paid for the privilege of wearing Panna Nitechka's ring for a short time.' I said to myself, 'if he and she are to meet on earth and be reconciled, let them meet and be reconciled; but I have no wish to take that work on my conscience, especially after what has happened.' Ignas is well to all seeming; but he has not recovered yet mentally, and in that state he might be brought easily to something which he would regret for a lifetime. As to those ladies, I divined at once why they came here, and I was delighted in soul that I had hindered their tricks; that my supposition was to the point is shown by this, that some days later a letter came to Ignas, on which I recognized the handwriting of the widow of that heaven-dwelling Teodor. I wrote on the envelope that Pan Ignas had gone away, it was unknown whither, and sent the letter retro.
"That, however, was only the beginning of the history. Next morning I received a letter with an invitation to a talk. I answered that I must refuse with regret; that my occupations do not permit me to give myself such a pleasure. In answer to this, I received a second letter with an appeal to my character, my talent, my descent, my heart, my sympathy for an unhappy woman: and with the prayer that I should either go myself, or appoint an hour in my studio. There was no escape,--I went. Pani Bronich herself received me with tears, and a whole torrent of narratives which I shall not repeat, but in which 'Nitechka' appears as a Saint Agnes the martyr. 'With what can I serve,' ask I? She answers: 'It is not a question of anything, but a kind word from Pan Ignas. The child is sick, she is coughing, in all likelihood she will not live the year out; but she wants to die with a word of forgiveness.' At this I confess that I was softened a little, but I held out. Moreover, I could not give the address of Pan Ignas, for I did not know really at what hotel he had stopped. I was sweating as in a steam bath; and at last I promised something in general, that if Ignas would begin at any time to talk with me about Panna Castelli, that I would persuade him to act in accordance with the wish of Pani Bronich.
"But this was not all yet. When I was thinking of going, Panna Lineta herself rushed in on a sudden, and turned to her aunt with the request to let her talk with me alone. I will say in parenthesis that she has grown thin, and that she seems taller than usual, really like 'a poplar,' which any wind might break. Hardly were we left alone when she turned to me and said, 'Aunt is trying to make me innocent, and is doing so through love for me. I am thankful to her; but I cannot endure it, and I declare to you that I am guilty, that I am not worthy of anything, and that if I am unhappy I have deserved it a hundred times.' When I heard this I was astonished; but I saw that she was talking sincerely, for her lips were quivering and her eyes were mist-covered. You may say to yourselves that I have a heart made of butter; but I confess that I was moved greatly, and I inquired what I could do for her. To this she answered that I could do nothing; but she begged me to believe at least that she took no part in those efforts of her aunt to renew relations, that after Pan Ignas's act her eyes were opened to what she had done, and that she would never forget it in her life. At last she said once again, that she alone was the cause of everything, and begged me to repeat our conversation to Pan Ignas, not immediately, however, but only when he could not suspect that she wished to influence him.
"Well, and what do you think? Would you lend belief to anything like that? I see clearly two things, first, that Pan Ignas's attempt on his life, happen what may, must have shaken her terribly; and second, that she is fabulously unhappy,--who knows, she may be sick really. So the opinion of Panna Helena comes to my mind, who, as you repeated to me, says that we must not despair of a man while he is living. In every case it is something uncommon. I believe too that even if Pan Ignas wished now to return to her, she would not consent, simply because she does not feel that she is worthy of him. As to me, I think that there are many better and nobler female natures than hers in the world; but may the deuce take me if I act against her!"
In continuation Svirski inquired about health, and sent obeisances to the Bigiels.
This letter made a great impression on all, and was the occasion of numerous discussions between the Polanyetskis and the Bigiels. It appeared at once too how far Pan Stanislav was changed. Formerly he would not have found words enough to condemn Panna Castelli, and never would he have believed that any chord of honor would make itself heard in a woman of her kind; but at present, when Pani Bigiel, who, as well as the other ladies, belonged soul and body to Panna Ratkovski's side, expressed doubts, and said, "Is not that merely a change of tactics on the part of Panna Castelli?" he said,--
"No; she is too young for that, and she seems to me sincere. It is a great thing if she acknowledges her fault so unconditionally, for it proves that untruth in life has disgusted her."
After a moment's hesitation, he added,--
"I remember, for example, that more than once Mashko acknowledged, as it were, that he was going by a wrong and false road; but right away he sought reasons to justify himself: 'With us it is necessary to do so;' 'That is the fault of our society;' 'I pay with the money that is current.' How much of this have I heard! And that was all untrue, too. Meanwhile there is a certain bravery in declaring, It is my fault absolutely. And whoso has that bravery has something left yet."
"Then do you judge that Pan Ignas would do well to return to her?"
"I do not judge at all, nor do I suppose that it could happen."
But the living interest roused by news from Rome, together with anxiety for Pan Ignas and Panna Castelli, passed away soon, under the pressure of a more important anxiety, which was hanging over the house of the Polanyetskis.
Toward the end of November Marynia's health began to fail evidently. It had been failing for some time, but she concealed this fact as long as possible. A painful palpitation of the heart came on her, and weakness so great that there were days when she could not move out of an armchair. Next came pains in her back and giddiness. In the course of a week she changed so much in the eyes, and grew thin to such a degree, that even the doctors, who up to that time had considered those symptoms as the ordinary forerunners of approaching labor, began to be alarmed at them. Her transparent face assumed at times a bluish tinge; and seemed, especially when the sick woman kept her eyes closed, like the face of a dead person. Even Pani Bigiel, the greatest optimist near Marynia, could not at last resist fears; the doctor declared to Pan Stanislav plainly that under such conditions the expected event might be dangerous, both in itself and in sequences. Marynia, though weaker every day and more exhausted, was indeed the only one who did not lose hope now.
But Pan Stanislav lost it. Such a grievous time came on him that all sufferings and misfortunes which hitherto in life he had gone through seemed to him nothing in comparison with his terrible dread, which often and often became utter despair. Formerly after his wedding, in his conceptions of marriage and his hopes of the future, a child was the main thing; now for the first time he felt that he would give not only one, but all the children that he could ever have, to save that one beloved Marynia. And his heart was cut when at times Marynia repeated with her weakened voice the question which before she had asked more than once, "Stas, but if it is a boy?" He would have been glad to fall at her feet, embrace them, and say, "Let the devil take it, boy or girl, if only thou art left;" but he had to smile at her, and assure her calmly that it was all one to him. His former terrors fell upon him again; and that hope, roused by Marynia's words, that by God's favor a wave of evil returns as remorse only, was dissipated without a trace. Now, at moments, he had again the feeling that Marynia's sickness might be just that returning wave. How it might be that wave he could not tell, for in vain did reason say to him that between the offence of Pani Osnovski or of Panna Castelli, for example, and the punishment which met them, there is an immediate connection which there is not in his case. Fear answered him, that evil may filter through life by such secret channels that the reason of man cannot follow it. And at this thought a dread seized him that was simply mysterious. A man in misfortune loses power of accurate reasoning; he lives under the weight of terror, and under such a weight was Pan Stanislav living. He saw only the precipice, and his own helplessness. More than once, while looking at the haggard face of Marynia, he said to himself, "One must be mad to suppose that she may not die;" and he sought desperately on the faces of those surrounding her for even a shade of hope, and with every drop of his blood, with every atom of his brain, with his whole soul and heart, he rose up against her death. It seemed to him an inconceivable injustice that she will have to close her eyes forever before he can show her how he loves her beyond every estimate; before he rewards her for all his carelessness, harsh treatment, egotism, and faithlessness; before he tells her that she has become the soul of his soul, something not only loved above all in his life, but revered. He repeated to himself that if God would not do this for him He ought to do it for her, so that in going from the world she might leave it with a feeling at least of that happiness which she had deserved. From these insolent suggestions to God of how He ought to act, he passed again to compunction, to humility, and to prayer. But meanwhile Marynia was daily more and more dangerously ill, and he, between two despairs, one of which shouted, "This cannot be," and the other, "It must be,"--he struggled as if in a vice.
Finally, from necessity, from the fear of taking hope from Marynia, he was forced to pretend in her presence that he paid little attention to her sickness. And the doctor and Pani Bigiel warned him daily not to alarm her; his own reason indicated the same to him. And here was a new torture, since it came to his mind that she might look on this as a lack of feeling, and die with the conviction that he had never loved her. Thus everything was changed in him utterly. Sleeplessness, torment, and alarm brought him to a kind of sickly exaltation, in which even the danger, which of itself was too evident, he saw in a still higher degree. It seemed to him that there was no hope, and at times he thought of Marynia as if already dead. For whole days he was thinking over every good point of her character,--her words, her kindness, her calmness. He remembered how all loved her, and he reproached himself desperately, saying that he had never been worthy of her, that he had not loved her sufficiently, that he had not valued her enough, and, to crown all, had broken faith with her; and therefore he must lose her, and lose her deservedly.
And in the feeling that a thing so terrible was also deserved, and that it was too late for any correction, was something simply heart-rending. Even persons who during life were always loved greatly, when they go from this world, leaving their friends in sorrow because they did not love the departed enough, leave behind, of all sorrows, that which is sorest.
At the beginning of December, Svirski and Pan Ignas returned, after two months' journey, from Italy. Pan Stanislav had grown so thin and haggard in that interval that they hardly knew him; and he, quite sunk in misery, turned scarcely any attention to them, and listened as in a dream to words of hope and consolation from both, as well as narratives, with which the honest artist tried to divert his suffering mind. What did he care now for Pan Ignas, Pani Bronich, Panna Castelli, in face of the fact that Marynia might die any day? Svirski, who had immense friendship for him, wishing to find from some point a little hope, betook himself to Pani Bigiel; but even she had not much hope to offer. The doctors themselves did not know well what the trouble was, for to her condition were added various complications, which could not be defined even. It was only known that the heart of the sick woman acted irregularly; they feared above all that, as a result of defective circulation, some coagulation in the veins might result, which would cause sudden death. Besides, even in case of a happy delivery, they feared a number of things,--exhaustion, loss of strength, and all those results which come only later. Svirski convinced himself that Pani Bigiel did not deceive herself either when, at the end of the conversation, she fell into tears, and said,--
"Poor Marynia! but he, poor man too. If even a child should be left him, he might find strength to bear the blow."
And when she had dried her tears, she added,--
"As it is, I do not understand how he endures it all."
That was true; Pan Stanislav did not eat and did not sleep. He had not shown himself at the counting-house for a long time; he went out only for flowers, which Marynia loved always, and the sight of which cheered her. But she was so sick that whenever he went for a bunch of chrysanthemums he returned with the terrible thought that perhaps he was bringing it for her coffin. Marynia's own eyes opened to this,--that perhaps her death was coming. She did not wish to speak of this to her husband; but before Pani Bigiel she fell to weeping one day in grief for her own life and for "Stas." She was tortured by the thought, how would he bear it, for she wanted that he should be awfully sorry for her, and at the same time, that he should not suffer much. Before him she pretended yet a long time to feel sure that all would end happily.
But later, when fainting spells came, she summoned courage to talk with him openly; this seemed to her a duty. Therefore one night, when Pani Bigiel, overcome by drowsiness, went to sleep, and he was watching near her as usual, she stretched her hand to him, and said,--
"Stas, I wanted to talk with thee, and beg for one thing."
"What is it, my love?" asked Pan Stanislav.
She thought for a time evidently how to express her prayer; and then she began to speak,--
"Promise me--I know that I shall recover surely--but promise me that should it be a boy, thou wilt love and be kind."
Pan Stanislav, by a superhuman effort, restrained the sobbing which seized his breast, and said calmly,--
"My dear love, I will always love thee and him, be sure."
Thereupon Marynia tried to raise his hand to her lips, but from weakness she was not able to do so; then she smiled at him from thankfulness. And again she said, "Do not think that I suppose for a moment anything terrible, not at all! but I should like to confess."
A shiver went through Pan Stanislav from head to feet.
"Well, my child," answered he, with a voice of fear, and as it were not his own voice.
And, recollecting that once her expression "service of God" pleased him, and wishing to let him know that it was not the question of anything else here but the performance of ordinary religious duties, she repeated, with an almost glad smile,--
"The service of God."
The confession took place next morning. Pan Stanislav was so sure that that was the end that he was almost astonished because Marynia was alive yet, and because she was even a little better in the evening.
He did not dare to admit hope into his soul. But she became brighter, and said that she breathed more easily. About midnight she began the usual warfare with him about his going to rest. Indeed, from trouble of mind and toil he looked not much better than she did. He refused at first, contending that he had slept in the daytime, and that he was refreshed, which was not true; but she insisted absolutely. He yielded all the more that there was a special woman and Pani Bigiel, besides the doctor, who for a week had slept in their house, and who assured him now that for the time there was no reason to expect any turn for the worse.
But when he went out, he did as he did usually; that is, he sat in an armchair at the door, and began to listen to what was happening in the room. In this way the hours of night passed. At the least noise he sprang up; but when the noise ceased he sat down again and began to think hurriedly and chaotically, as people do over whom danger is hanging. But at times his thoughts pressed one another, grew confused from weariness, forming, as it were, a dense crowd in which he was wandering without power to know anything. Sleep also tortured him. He had uncommon strength; but for ten days he knew not how he lived. Only black coffee and feverishness kept him on his feet. He did not yield even then, though his head was as heavy as lead and the crowd of his thoughts changed, as it were, into a black cloud, without a clear spot. He merely repeated to himself yet that Marynia was sick and he ought not to fall asleep; but these words had not the least meaning for him now.
At last toil, exhaustion, and sleepless nights conquered. A stony invincible sleep seized him,--a sleep in which there was no dreaming, in which reality perished, in which the whole world perished, and in which life itself was benumbed.
He was only roused toward morning by a knocking at the door.
"Pan Stanislav!" called the smothered voice of Pani Bigiel.
He sprang to his feet, and, gaining consciousness that moment, ran out of that room. With one glance he took in Marynia's bed; and at sight of the closed curtains his feet tottered under him.
"What has happened?" whispered he, with whitening lips.
But Pani Bigiel answered with a voice equally low, panting a trifle,--
"You have a son."
And she put her finger on her lips.
Chapter LXV
There were grievous days yet, and very grievous. Such weakness came on Marynia that her life began to quiver, like the flame of a taper. Would it quench, or would it flicker up again? At moments all were convinced that the flame was just, just dying. Still youth, and the relief brought by the coming of a child to the world, turned the scale on the life side. On a certain day the sick woman woke after long sleep, and seemed healthier. The old doctor in attendance, who witnessed the improvement, wished to convince himself more clearly that there was no deception, and asked to call in a physician with whom he had held counsel earlier. Pan Stanislav went to find him, and drove himself out of his mind almost while searching the city half a day for him; he did not dare hope yet that that turn in her sickness and in his misfortune was decisive. When at last he found the hunted doctor and brought him to the house, Pani Bigiel received him in the room adjoining the sick chamber, with moist eyelids, but with a glad face, and said,--
"She is better! decidedly better."
The woman could not say more, for tears flowed from her eyes. Pan Stanislav grew pale from emotion; but she controlled her delight with an effort, and said, smiling through her tears,--
"She is fighting for food now. A while since she asked to have the child brought. She asked also why you did not come. But now she is fighting for food; and how she is fighting! Ah, praise be to God! Praise be to God!"
And in her excitement she threw her arms around Pan Stanislav; then he kissed her hand and did not take it from his mouth for a long time. He trembled in every limb in the struggle to repress his delight, and also the groans which had gathered in him through many days of dread and torture, and which sought to burst forth now in spite of every effort.
Meanwhile the doctors came to Marynia, and sat rather long at her bedside. When the consultation was over, and they appeared again, satisfaction was evident on their faces. After Pan Stanislav's feverish inquiry, the doctor in regular attendance, an impetuous old man, with gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, and a golden heart in his breast, happy himself now, but greatly wearied, said, grumbling,--
"How is she? Go and thank God,--that is what!"
And Pan Stanislav went. Even had he been a man without belief, he would have gone at that moment, and thanked God with a heart swollen from tears and thankfulness, for having taken pity on him and let the wave return in the guise of pain and suffering, and not in the guise of death.
Later, when he had calmed himself, he went on tiptoe to his wife's room, where Pani Bigiel was. Marynia was gazing straight ahead with gladsome eyes, and at the first glance it was evident that she was much better really. When she saw him, she said,--
"Ah, see, Stas--I am well!"
"Well, my love," answered Pan Stanislav, quietly. It was not time yet for outbursts; therefore he sat down in silence near her bed. But after a while joy and great feeling for her overcame him so far that, bending down, he embraced with both hands her feet covered with the quilt, and, putting his face down to them, remained motionless.
And she, though very weak yet, smiled with satisfaction. She looked some time at him; then, just like a child which is happy because it is fondled, she said to Pani Bigiel, pointing with her transparent finger to that dark head nestled at her feet,--
"He loves me!"
Next day Marynia felt still stronger, and from that moment almost every hour brought improvement. At last that was not a gradual return to health, but a bloom, as it were, a sudden return of spring after winter, which astonished the doctor himself. Pan Stanislav wanted at moments to shout from the joy which was stifling him, as formerly sorrow had stifled. They kept Marynia in bed still, through excess of caution; but when her strength, her bloom, her wish for life, her humor, had returned, she began to call people to her, and say every evening that she would rise from her bed on the morrow. In one respect only the long illness and weakness had brought a change in her manner, which was to pass, however, with other traces of sickness. This was it,--she, who had been such a calm and wise woman formerly, had become for a certain time a kind of spoiled child, who insisted on various things frequently, and felt a real disappointment if they were refused. Pan Stanislav, in speaking with her, entered involuntarily into her tone, hence those "grimaces" were an occasion also of merriment.
Once she began to complain to him that Pani Bigiel would not give her red wine. Pani Bigiel explained that she gave as much as the doctor permitted, and must wait for permission to give more. Pan Stanislav set about comforting Marynia at once, speaking to her just as he used to speak formerly to Litka,--
"They will give the child wine,--they will give it!--the moment the doctor comes."
To which Marynia said, "Red!"
"But how red must it be!" answered Pan Stanislav; and then both began to laugh, and Pani Bigiel with them. As some time before, the fear of death and misfortune had hung over that room, so now it was lighted with frequent joy, as with sunlight. At times they fell into perfect humor, and grandfather Plavitski formed part of the company too on occasions. He, since the advent to the world of his grandson, had grown full of patriarchal, but kindly importance, which did not drive away merriment. It was varied, however, for at times a lofty and solemn manner gained the upper hand in him. On a certain day he brought his will, and forced all to listen to its paragraphs from beginning to end. In the touching words of the introduction he took farewell of life, of his daughter, of Pan Stanislav, and of his grandson, not sparing directions regarding the education of the latter into a good grandson, a good son, a good father, and a good citizen; then he made him heir of all he possessed. And in spite of the fact that since Mashko's bankruptcy he possessed only as much as Pan Stanislav gave him, still he was moved by his own munificence and preserved all that evening the mien of a pelican, which nourishes its young with its own proper blood.
A person who returns to the world after a grievous illness passes anew through all the periods of childhood and first youth, with this difference only,--that that which formerly was counted by years is counted now by weeks, or even days. So it was with Marynia. Pam Bigiel, who at first called her "baby," said, in laughing, that gradually "baby" had changed into a little girl, the little girl into a maiden. But the maiden began to find her feminine coquetry. Now, when they combed her hair, she insisted that they should place on her knees a small mirror, which she had received from her mother; and she looked into it carefully, to see if Pani Bigiel's promise that "afterward she would be still more beautiful," was being justified. On the first occasions the examinations did not satisfy her over-much, but afterwards more and more. At last she gave command one day to bring the mirror again, after her hair was dressed; and once more she made a thorough review of her complexion, her eyes, her mouth, her hair, her expression,--in a word, of everything which there was to look at. And the review must have turned out well, for she began to smile, and grow radiant; at last she turned toward Pan Stanislav's chamber, threatening with her thin fist, and said, with a very aggressive mien,--
"But wait now, Pan Stas!"
In truth, she had never been so comely. Her complexion, always very pure, had become still clearer, and more lily-like than it was when Pan Ignas had lost his head, and rhymed from morning till evening about it. Besides, the first rosy dawn of health was shining on her cheeks. From her eyes, from her mouth, from her face, which had grown smaller after sickness, there shone a species of light, a rebirth into life, a spring. It was a wonderful head simply, full of bright and clear colors, and at the same time of delicate outline,--really exquisite, and, as Pan Ignas had expressed himself once, belonging to the field, so wonderful that at moments, when it was lying on the pillow, and on its own dark hair, it was not possible to look at it sufficiently. That so-called "Pan Stas," who saw everything clearly, and who, according to the description of Bigiel, "could not move hand or foot from love," did not need to "wait" at all. Not only did he love her now as a woman and one dear to him, but he felt for her gratitude beyond bounds because she had not died, and he showed his gratitude by striving to divine her thoughts. Marynia had not even imagined at any time that she would become to such a degree the motive of his life, the sight of his eye, the soul of his thought and activity. Never had it been disagreeable to them with each other; but now, with Marynia's return to health, an unexampled happiness, an unexampled delight, came to their household.
And young Polanyetski, too, contributed actively. Marynia was not able to nourish him herself; and her husband, foreseeing this, got a nurse for his son. Wishing, moreover, to give the sick woman pleasure, he brought in an old acquaintance of hers in Kremen. She had served once with the Plavitskis; after their departure she happened in Yalbrykov, and there a misfortune befell her. It was never known strictly who the cause was; but if it was possible to reproach any of the greater proprietors with want of love for the people, it was not possible to reproach Pan Gantovski, for all Yalbrykov was full of proofs of how Gantovski loved the people. Even in the negotiations about peasant privileges of the co-residents of Yalbrykov, among other points raised was this,--that "the lord heir rides on a white horse, shoots from pistols, and looks into the girls' eyes;" and if on the one hand it was not easy to see what particular connection the above habits of Gantovski had with the agreements about peasant privileges, it became perfectly clear on the other that, thanks to those habits, Pan Stanislav found with ease a nurse for his son in Yalbrykov.
But as that was a youthful, vigorous, and buxom Mazovian, the young man could only succeed in her care. In general, that little Polanyetski was a personage who, from the first moment of his arrival in the world, became more and more a lord in the house, not counting with any one, nor thinking of anything, save his own wants and pleasures. According to his method, in moments free from sleep and feasting, he occupied himself with noise-making, and the development of his little lungs, by means of a cry which was as piercing as his early age could attain. At such times he was brought frequently to Marynia. On those occasions endless sessions began, at which all his physical and mental traits were investigated minutely, as well as every striking resemblance to his life-givers. It was asserted that he had the nose of his mother, the remark of his nurse, that he had a nose like a cat, being rejected with remarkable unanimity; it was settled, also, that he would have an immensely interesting smile; that he would be dark, with brown hair; that he would be tall without fail; that he was very lively, and would have an astonishing memory. Pani Bigiel, while Marynia was lying in bed, made, also, on her own account, various discoveries, which she announced to all in general. Once she rushed into Marynia's room with delight and haste worthy of every recognition, and said,--
"Imagine to thyself, he spread out his little fingers on one hand, and with the other thou wouldst swear that he was counting. He'll be a mathematician, beyond doubt."
And Marynia answered in all seriousness,--
"Then he'll take after his father."
Still she made a discovery earlier, even with reference to date, than all those of Pani Bigiel,--namely, that he was "a dear little love of a creature." As to Pan Stanislav, at the first moment he looked at the new acquaintance with astonishment and a certain distrust. In his time he had wished greatly to have a daughter, with this reason chiefly, that, being in make-up of heart a great child-man, he imagined that he could give all the tenderness in him only to a girl. There was sticking in him, it is unknown why, an idea that a son would be some kind of a big lump of a fellow with mustaches almost, speaking in a bass voice, snorting somewhat like a horse, whom it would not be worth while to approach with tenderness, for he would hold it in contempt. Only gradually, after looking at this little figure sleeping on pillows, did he begin to reach the conviction that not only was that no big "lump of a boy," but simply a poor little thing, deserving of tenderness, small, weak, defenceless, needing care and love as much as any little girl in the world. At last he said to himself, "So he is that kind of boy!" And thenceforth he became more and more tender toward the little thing; and after a few days he even tried to carry him to Marynia, which, however, he did with such an amount of purely superfluous caution, and also so awkwardly, that he brought to laughter, not only Marynia and Pani Bigiel, but, with a loss to his own dignity, even the nurse.
And laughter was heard now in the dwelling of the Polanyetskis from morning till evening. Both, waking in the morning, woke with that happy feeling that the day would bring them new delight. Bigiel, who, from the time that Marynia left her bed, was admitted in the evening with his violoncello, looking at their life, said once, after a moment of necessary meditation, "Misfortune may come to good people, as to every one; but when it is well for them, as God lives, it is better for no one else."
And, in truth, life was pleasant for them. Marynia, according to what she had heard in her time from Pani Bigiel, and what she thought herself, judged that the cause of this new bloom of love in her husband was the child, which bound them by new bonds. One day she began even to speak of this to Pan Stanislav; but he answered with all simplicity,--
"No; I give thee my word! I love him in his way; but thee I loved already fabulously before he came to the world, for thyself, because thou art as thou art. Look around," said he, "think what is going on in the world; and to whom can I compare thee?"
Then, taking her hands, he began to kiss them, not only with immense love, but also with the greatest respect, and added,--
"Thou wilt never know what thou art for me, and how I love thee."
But, nestling up to him, she asked, with a face bright as the sun in heaven,--
"Indeed, Stas, shall I never know? Try to tell me."
Chapter LXVI
The christening came. Immediately after his arrival in the world, the young man had been baptized with water by Pani Bigiel, to whom, impressed by the sickness of the mother, it seemed that the little one might die any moment. But he had not even thought of that, and had waited, in the best of health and appetite, for the time of the solemnity, in which he was to play the leading part. Pan Stanislav had invited all his acquaintances. Besides people of the house, and grandfather Plavitski, there were Pani Emilia, who, for that day, had rallied the remnant of her strength, the Bigiels, with the little Bigiels, Professor Vaskovski, Svirski, Pan Ignas, and Panna Ratkovski. Pani Polanyetski, now in health, and happy, looked so enchanting that Svirski, gazing at her, caught his hair with both hands, and said, with his usual outspokenness,--
"This just passes every understanding! As God lives! a man might lose his eyes."
"Well," said Pan Stanislav, puffing with satisfaction, and with that conceit evident in him that he had always seen that which others saw only now for the first time.
But Svirski answered,--
"Kneel down, nations! I will say nothing further."
Marynia was confused at hearing this, but flushed with pleasure, feeling that Svirski was right. She had, however, to occupy herself with the guests and the ceremony, and all the more since a certain disorder had crept in, to begin with. The first couple, Pani Emilia and Bigiel, were to hold little Stas; the second couple were Panna Ratkovski and Svirski. Meanwhile, this last man began to create unexpected difficulties, discovering hindrances, and evading, it was unknown why. "He would be very glad--he had come from Italy purposely--of course. That was an arranged affair; but he had never before held a child at a christening, therefore he didn't know if his god-child would remain in good health, and especially if he would have luck with women." At this Pan Stanislav laughed, and called him a superstitious Italian, but Marynia divined the trouble more quickly. She took advantage of the moment in which he had pushed back toward the window to escape, and whispered,--
"A gossip[15] of the second couple is no hindrance in this case."
Svirski raised his eyes to her, then laughed, showing his small sound teeth, and said on a sudden, turning to Panna Ratkovski,--
"It is true, this is only in the second couple; therefore, I will serve you."
All surrounded the little Stas, who, in the arms of the nurse, and dressed in muslin and lace, looked valiant, with his bald spot and his staring round eyes, in which the external world was reflected as mechanically as in a mirror. Bigiel took him now in his arms, and the ceremony began.
Those present listened with due attention to the solemn sacramental words, but the young pagan exhibited exceptional hardness of heart. First he began to kick, so that he half freed himself from Bigiel's arms; later, when Bigiel, in his name, renounced the devil and his works, the young man did all in his power to drown the words. It was only when he saw, all at once, in the midst of his screaming, Bigiel's spectacles, that he stopped suddenly, as if to let people know that if there are such astonishing objects in the world, it is a different thing.
However, the ceremony ended, and immediately after they gave him into the hands of the nurse, who put him into a splendid cradle, in the form of a wagon, the gift of Svirski, and wished to roll him out of the room. But Svirski, who never in his life, perhaps, had seen so nearly such a small person, and in whose breast beat a heart long yearning for fatherhood, stopped the nurse, and, bending down to the cradle, took the child in his arms.
"Carefully, carefully!" cried Pan Stanislav, pushing up quickly.
But the artist turned to him, and said,--
"Sir, I have held in my hands the works of Luca della Robbia."
And, in fact, he lifted the little creature, and began to swing him with as much dexterity as if he had had care of children all his life. Then he approached Professor Vaskovski, and asked,--
"Well, what does the beloved professor think of his young Aryan?"
"What?" answered the old man, looking with tenderness at the child; "naturally, an Aryan, an Aryan of purest water."
"And a coming missionary," added Pan Stanislav.
"He will not turn from that in the future; he will not evade, just as you cannot evade," answered the professor.
It was not possible, in fact, to prejudge the future; but for the moment the young Aryan avoided all missions in a manner so unmistakable, and simply insulting, that it was necessary to give him to the nurse. The ladies, however, did not cease to smack their lips at him, and to be charmed with him, until they came to a decisive conclusion that he was a perfectly exceptional child, that his whole bearing showed this clearly, and that any one must be without eyes not to see that that would be the nicest man in the country, and, moreover, a genius.
But the "genius" fell asleep at last, as if he had been stunned by the incense, and meanwhile lunch was served. Marynia, in spite of all her friendship for the artist, seated Pan Ignas next to Panna Ratkovski. She wished, as, for that matter, all wished, not excepting even Svirski, that something should be made clear in their relations, for Pan Ignas acted strangely. Svirski held that he was not yet entirely normal. He was healthy; he slept and ate well; he had grown a little heavier; he spoke with judgment, even more deliberately than had been his habit,--but there appeared in him a certain infirmity of will, a certain lack of that initiative for which he had been so distinguished before. In Italy he grew radiant at remembrance of Panna Ratkovski; and when he spoke of her his eyes filled with tears at times. On his return, when some one reminded him that it would be well to make a visit to Panna Ratkovski, and especially when that one offered to go with him, he answered, "It is true," and he went with delight. But the visit made, it seemed as though he did not remember her existence. At times it was evident that in the depth of his soul something was troubling him, swallowing all his mental force. Svirski supposed for a while that it might be the remembrance of Panna Castelli; but he convinced himself, with a certain astonishment, that it was not, and at last he began to think that Pan Ignas never mentioned her because he had lost the feeling that she was real, or that she seemed to him now an impression so remote, a remembrance so blown apart, that it could not be brought into a real living whole. He was not melancholy. On the contrary, one might note at times in him satisfaction with life and the joy which he experienced, as it were, in this his second birth in it. Really sad, more and more confined in herself, and increasingly quiet, was Panna Ratkovski. It may be that, besides a lack of mutual feeling, other things in Pan Ignas alarmed her; but she did not mention those alarms to any one. Marynia and Pani Bigiel, judging that the only cause of her sadness was the conduct of Pan Ignas, showed the most heartfelt sympathy, and were ready to do anything to help her. Marynia saw Pan Ignas now for the first time since his return from Italy; but Pani Bigiel spoke to him daily, praising Panna Ratkovski, reminding him how much he owed her, and giving him to understand more and more clearly that it was his duty to pay something of the debt which he owed her. The honest Svirski, to the detriment of his own hopes, repeated the same to him; and Pan Ignas agreed to everything, but, as it were, unwillingly, or without being able to add the final conclusion. He spoke of his approaching second trip abroad, of plans of still greater journeys in the future,--in a word, of things which, by their nature, excluded the co-operation of Panna Ratkovski.
And now, sitting side by side, they spoke little to each other. Pan Ignas ate abundantly, and with appetite, even with attention; he followed with his eyes the new courses which were served first to the elder guests. Panna Ratkovski, noticing this, looked on him at moments, as if with painful sympathy. At last this began to vex Marynia; so, wishing to rouse a conversation between them, she said, bending over the table,--
"You have come so recently from travels, tell me and Steftsia something of Italy. Hast thou never been there, Steftsia?"
"I have not," answered Panna Ratkovski; "but not long since I read the account of a journey--but to read and to see are different."
And she blushed slightly, for she had betrayed the fact that she had been reading about Italy just when Pan Ignas was there.
"Pan Svirski persuaded me to go as far as Sicily," said he, "but it was hot there at that time; that would be the place to visit at this season."
"Ah!" said Marynia, "it is well that I think of it--but my letters? You asked through Pan Svirski if I wished you to write your impressions, but afterward I did not receive a single letter."
Pan Ignas blushed; he was confused, and then in a kind of strange and uncertain voice, answered,--
"No, for I have not been able yet; I will write very much, but later."
Having heard these words, Svirski approached Marynia after lunch, and indicating Pan Ignas with his eyes, said,--
"Do you know the impression which he makes on me sometimes?--that of a costly vessel which is cracked."
FOOTNOTES:
[15] With Panna Ratkovski, Svirski wished to avoid spiritual relationship, a hindrance to marriage.
Chapter LXVII
A couple of days after the christening, Svirski visited Pan Stanislav in the counting-house, to inquire for Marynia's health, and to talk about various things which lay at his heart. Seeing, however, that he was late, and that Pan Stanislav was preparing to go, he said,--
"Do not stop for me. Let us talk on the street. The light is so sharp to-day that I cannot work; therefore I will walk to your door with you."
"In every case I should have been forced to beg your pardon," said Pan Stanislav. "My Marynia goes out to-day for the first time, and we are to dine with the Bigiels. She must be dressed by this time, but we have twenty minutes yet."
"As she goes out, she is well?"
"Praise be to God, as well as a bird!" answered Pan Stanislav, with delight.
"And the little Aryan?"
"The little Aryan bears himself stoutly."
"O happy man, if I had such a toad at home, not to mention such a wife, I should not know what to do--unless to walk upon house-tops."
"You will not believe how that boy takes my heart. Every day more, and in general, in a way that I did not expect, for you must know that I wanted a daughter."
"It is not evening yet; the daughter will come. But you are in a hurry; let us go then."
Pan Stanislav took his fur coat, and they went to the street. The day was frosty, clear. Around was heard the hurried sound of sleigh-bells. Men had their collars over their ears, their mustaches were frosty, and they threw columns of steam from their mouths.
"It is a gladsome sort of day," said Pan Stanislav. "I rejoice, for my Marynia's sake, that it is clear."
"It is gladsome for you in life; therefore everything seems clear to you," said Svirski, taking him by the arm. But all at once he dropped the arm, and stopping the way, said, with an expression as if he wished to quarrel,--
"Do you know that you have the most beautiful woman in Warsaw as wife? It is I who tell you this--I!"
And he began to strike his breast with his hand as if to increase thereby the certainty that it was he and no one else who was speaking thus.
"Of course!" answered Pan Stanislav, laughing, "and also the best and most honest on earth; but let us go on, for it is cold."
When Svirski took him again by the arm, Pan Stanislav added with some emotion,--
"But what I went through during her sickness, the Lord God alone knows--Better not mention it--She gave me a surprise simply by her return to life; but if God grants me to live till spring, I will give a surprise that will gladden her."
"There is nothing with which to compare her," answered Svirski.
Then, halting again, he said, as if in astonishment, "And; as I love God, so much simplicity at the same time."
They walked on a while in silence, then Pan Stanislav asked Svirski of his journey.
"I shall stay three weeks in Florence," answered the artist. "I have some work there. Besides, I have grown homesick for the light on San Miniato and Ginevra, with which, and with Cimabue, I was in love on a time. Do you remember in Santa Maria Novella, in the chapel of Rucellai? After a three weeks' stay I shall go to Rome. I wanted to talk with you about the journey, for this morning Pan Ignas came to me with the proposition that we should go again together."
"Ah! and did you agree?"
"I had not the heart to refuse, though, between ourselves, he is sometimes a burden. But you know how I loved him, and how I felt for him, so it is hard for me to say it, but he is burdensome occasionally. What is to be said in this case? he is changed immensely. At the christening I told Pani Polanyetski that at times he seems to me like a costly vessel which is cracked; and that is true. For I saw how he struggled over those letters, in which he wished to describe Italy for her. He walked whole hours through the room, rubbed his shot forehead, sat down, stood up; but the paper remained just as it was, untouched. God grant him to recover his former power. At present he repeats to every one that he will write; but he begins to doubt himself, and to grieve. I know that he grieves."
"The loss of his power would be a misfortune both for him and Panna Helena. If you knew how she was concerned to the verge of despair, not only for his life, but his talent."
"The loss of that would be a public misfortune; but the person for whom I am most sorry is Panna Ratkovski. She too begins to doubt whether he will be what he was, and that tortures her, perhaps, more than other griefs."
"Poor girl!" said Pan Stanislav, "and the more so since from all his plans of travelling one thing is clear, that he does not even think of her. It is fortunate that Panna Helena secured her independence."
"I will wait a year," answered Svirski, "and after a year I will propose a second time. She has taken hold of me, it is not to be denied! Have you noticed how becoming short hair is to her? She ought to wear it that way always. I will wait a year," and he was silent; "but after that I shall consider my hands free. It is not possible either that in her something will not change in a year, especially if he gives no sign of life. All this is wonderfully strange. Do you think that I do not do everything in my power to blow into life some spark for her? As God is true, a man has never done more against his own heart than I have. Pani Bigiel too does what she can. But it is difficult. Again, no one has the right to say to him expressly: marry! if he does not love her. And this is the more wonderful, since he does not seem even to think of the other. One Panna Ratkovski is worth more than a whole grove of such 'Poplars;' but that is another affair! For me the point is that she should not suppose that I am taking him away purposely. I have not dissuaded him, for I could not; but, my dear sir, should there ever be a conversation about our journey, say to her that, as God lives, I did not persuade Pan Ignas to the journey, and that I would give more than she supposes to make her happy, even were it at the cost of an old dog like me."
"Of course we shall do so."
"Thank you for that. Before going, I shall be with you again to say good-by to Pani Polanyetski."
"Surely in the evening, so that we may sit longer. I think too that you will return in summer; you and Pan Ignas will spend some time with us."
"In Buchynek?"
"In Buchynek or not, that is unknown yet."
Further conversation was interrupted by the sight of Osnovski, who at that moment was coming out of a fruit-shop, with a white package in his hand.
"See, there is Osnovski!" said Svirski.
"How changed!" said Pan Stanislav.
And indeed he was changed immensely. From under his fur cap gazed a pale face, grown yellow, and, as it were, much older. His fur coat seemed to hang on him. Seeing his two friends, he was vexed; it was evident that for a while he hesitated whether or not to go around, pretending that he did not see them. But the sidewalk was empty, and they had come so near that he changed his intention, and, coming up, began to speak with unnatural haste, as if wishing to cover with talk that of which all three were thinking exclusively.
"A good day to you, gentlemen! Oh, this is a chance that we meet, for I am shut up in Prytulov, and come rarely to the city. I have just bought some grapes, for the doctor orders me to eat grapes. But they are imported in sawdust, and have the odor of it; I thought they would be better here. There is frost to-day, indeed. In the country sleighing is perfect."
And they walked on together, all feeling awkward.
"You are going to Egypt, are you not?" inquired Pan Stanislav at last.
"That is my old plan, and perhaps I shall go. In the country there is nothing to do in winter; it is tedious to be alone there."
Here he stopped suddenly, for he saw that he was touching a delicate subject. And they went on in a silence still more oppressive, feeling that unspeakable awkwardness which is felt always when, by some tacit agreement, people talk of things of no interest, while hiding the main ones, which are painful. Osnovski would have been glad to leave his two friends; but people accustomed for long years to observe certain forms pay attention to appearances unconsciously, even in the deepest misfortune, hence he wanted to find some easy and natural means of leaving Pan Stanislav and the artist; but not being able to find it, he merely continued the awkward position. Finally, he began to take farewell of them in the unexpected and unnatural way of a man who has lost his head. At the last moment, however, he determined otherwise. Such a comedy seemed to him unendurable. He had had enough of it. It flashed into his head that he ought not to make a secret of anything; that in avoidance of every mention of misfortune there is something abject. On his face constraint was clear, and suffering; but, halting, he began to say with a broken voice, losing breath every moment,--
"Gentlemen, I beg pardon for detaining you longer. But you know that I have separated from my wife--I do not see any reason why I should not speak of it, especially with persons so honorable and so near--I declare to you, gentlemen, that that was--that that happened so--that is, that I wished it myself, and that to my wife nothing--"
But the voice stuck in his throat, and he could not speak further. Evidently he wanted to take the fault on himself; but on a sudden he felt all the incredibility, all the extent and desperate emptiness of a lie like that, which must be a mere sound of words, so that not even the feeling of any duty, nor any social appearance could justify him. And, losing his head altogether, he went into the crowd, bearing with him his grapes and unfathomable misfortune.
Svirski and Pan Stanislav went on in silence under the impression of this misfortune.
"As God is true," said Pan Stanislav at length, "his heart is breaking."
"For such a man," answered the artist, "there is nothing except to wish death."
"And still he has not deserved such a fate."
"I give you my word," said Svirski, "whenever I think of him, I see him kissing her hands. He did it so often that I cannot imagine him otherwise. And what sets me to thinking again is this, that misfortune, like death, severs the relations of people, or if it does not sever relations completely, it estranges people. You have not known him long, but I, for example, lived on intimate terms with him, and now he is to me somehow farther away, while I am to him more a stranger; there is no help in this case, and that is so sad."
"Sad and wonderful--"
But Svirski stopped on a sudden, and exclaimed,--
"Do you know what? May a thunderbolt burn that Pani Osnovski! Panna Helena said that it was not permitted to despair of a man while he was living; but as to that one, let a thunderbolt shake her!"
"There was not in the world, perhaps, a woman more worshipped than she," said Pan Stanislav.
"There you have them," answered Svirski, passionately. "Women, taking them in general--"
But all at once he struck his glove across his mouth.
"No!" cried he. "To the devil with my old fault! I have promised myself not to make any general conclusions about women."
"I said that he worshipped her," continued Pan Stanislav, "because now I simply do not understand how he can live without her."
"But he must."
Osnovski was forced really to live without his wife, but he was not able. In Prytulov and in Warsaw, which were full of reminiscences of her, life soon became for him unendurable; hence a month later he started on a journey. But, already out of health when he left Warsaw, he caught cold in an over-heated car, and in Vienna fell so ill that he had to take to his bed. The cold, which at first was considered influenza, turned into a violent typhus. After a few days the sick man lost consciousness, and lay in a hotel at the mercy of strange doctors and strange people, far from home and his friends. But afterward in the fever which heated his brain and confused his thoughts it seemed to him that he saw near his bedside the face dearest in life to him, beloved at all times, beloved in loneliness, in sickness, and in presence of death. It seemed to him that he saw it even when he had regained consciousness, but was so weak that he could not move yet, nor speak, nor even arrange his own thoughts.
Later the vision disappeared. But he began to inquire about it from the Sisters of Charity, who were sent, it was unknown by whom, and who surrounded him with the most tender care; and he began to yearn beyond measure.
Chapter LXVIII
After the solemnity of the christening, and after the departure of Svirski and Pan Ignas, the Polanyetskis began to live again a secluded and home life, seeing scarcely any one except the Bigiels, Pani Emilia, and Vaskovski. But it was pleasant for them in that narrow circle of near friends, and pleasantest of all with themselves. Pan Stanislav was greatly occupied; he sat long in the counting-house and outside the counting-house, settling some business of which no one else knew anything. But, after finishing his work, he hurried home now with greater haste than when, as betrothed, he flew every day to the lodgings of the Plavitskis. His old liveliness returned, his old humor and confidence in life. Soon he made a discovery which seemed to him wonderful,--namely, that not only did he love his wife with all his power as his wife and the one dearest to him, but that he was in love with her as a woman, without alarm or effort, it is true, without transitions from joy to doubts and despair, but with all the emotions of sincere feeling, with a whole movement of desire, with a continually uniform fresh sensitiveness to her feminine charm, and with an untiring care, which watches, foresees, acts, anticipates, wishes, and strives continually not to injure happiness, and not to lose it. "I shall change into an Osnovski," said he, humorously; "but to me alone is it permitted to be an Osnovski, because my little one will never become a Pani Aneta." He said "my little one" to her often now, but there was in that as much respect as petting. He understood, too, that he never should have loved her so, if she had been other than she was; that all was the result of her immense, honest will, and of that sort of wonderful rectitude which issued from her as naturally as heat from a hearth. Pan Stanislav knew that his mind was the more active, his thought the more far-reaching, and his knowledge profounder than her knowledge; still he felt that through her, and through her alone, all that which was in him had become in some way more finished and more noble. Through her influence all those principles acquired by him passed from his head, where they had been a dead theory, to his heart, where they became active life. He noticed, too, that not only happiness, but he himself was her work. There was in this even a little disillusion for him, since he saw, without any doubt, that had he found some common kind of woman he might have turned out some common kind of man. At times he wondered even how she could have loved him; but he called to mind then her expression, "service of God," and that explained to him everything. For such a woman marriage, too, was "service of God," as was love also, not by some wild power lying beyond the will of people, but precisely by an act of honest will, by serving an oath, by serving God's law, by serving duty. Marynia loved him because he was her husband. Such was she, and that was the end of the question! For a long time Pan Stanislav was not able to see that all that which he worshipped in her was enjoined directly by the first catechism which one might take up, and that in her training had not killed the catechism. Perhaps she had not been reared with sufficient care; but she had been taught that she must serve God, and not use God to serve herself.
Pan Stanislav, not understanding well the reasons why she was what she was, admired her increasingly, honored and loved her. As to her, while taking things without exaggeration, she did not conceive an excessive opinion of herself; she understood, however, that life had never been so pleasant for her as it then was; that she had passed through certain trials; that during those trials she had acted honorably; that she had endured the trials with patience; that the Lord God had rewarded her. And this feeling filled her with peace. Her health came back completely; she felt, therewith, very pleasant, and very much beloved. That "Stas," whom formerly she had feared a little, inclined his dark head frequently to her knees with submissiveness almost; and she thought with delight that "that man was not at all bending by nature, and that if he did bend, it was because he loved much." And she just grew every day. Gratitude rose in her, and she paid him for his love with her whole heart.
The young "Aryan" filled his rôle of a ray in the house splendidly. Sometimes it was, indeed, a ray connected with noise; but when he was in good-humor, and when, lying in his favorite position, with his legs raised at right angles, he drew cries of delight from himself, all the male and female population of the house gathered around his cradle. Marynia covered his legs, calling him "naughty boy;" but he pulled off the cover every instant, thinking, evidently, that if a man of character has determined to kick, he should hold out in his undertaking bravely. He laughed while he kicked, showing his little toothless gums, crowing, twittering like a sparrow, cooing like a dove, or mewing like a cat. On such occasions his nurse and mother talked for whole hours with him. Professor Vaskovski, who had lost his head over the boy altogether, maintained with perfect seriousness that that was an "esoteric speech," which should be phonographed by scientists, for it might either disclose thoroughly the mystery of astral existence, or, at least, touch on its main indications.
In this way the winter months passed in the house of the Polanyetskis. In January, Pan Stanislav began to make journeys on some business, and after each return he had long consultations with Bigiel. But from the middle of January he stayed at home permanently, never going out, unless to the counting-house, or to take short excursions with Marynia and Stas in the carriage. The uniformity of their life, or rather the uniformity of its calmness and happiness, was interrupted only by news of acquaintances in the city, brought most frequently by Pani Bigiel. In this way Marynia learned that Panna Ratkovski, who, of late, had not shown herself anywhere, had established a refuge for children from the income secured her by Panna Helena, and that Osnovski had gone really to Egypt, not alone, however, but with his "Anetka," with whom, after returning to health, he reunited himself. Pan Kresovski, the former second of Mashko, had seen them in Trieste, and declared to Pan Stanislav ironically that "the lady had the look of a submissive penitent." Pan Stanislav, knowing from experience how a person is crushed in misfortune, and what sincerity there may be in penitence, replied with perfect seriousness that since her husband had received Pani Osnovski, no decent man had a right to be more exacting than he was.
But later news came from Italy which was more wonderful, and so unheard of that it became the subject of talk, not only for the Polanyetskis and the Bigiels, but the whole city,--namely, that the artist Svirski had asked in Rome for the hand of Panna Castelli, and that they would be married immediately after Easter. Marynia was so much roused by this that she persuaded her husband to write to Svirski and ask if it were true. An answer came in ten days; and when Pan Stanislav entered his wife's room at last with the letter, holding it by the corner of the envelope, and with the words, "Letter from Rome!" the serious Marynia ran up to him, with cheeks red from curiosity, and the two, standing temple to temple, read as follows:--
"Is it true? No, dear friends, it is not true! But that you should understand why that could not take place, and can never take place, I must speak to you of Pan Ignas. He came here three days since. First I persuaded him to remain in Florence, then to glance at Sienna, Parma, and especially Ravenna. Thence I send him to Athens, and to-morrow he will go by way of Brindisi. Meanwhile he sat with me from morning till evening. I saw that something was troubling the man, and wishing to turn direct conversation to things which concerned him more closely, I asked yesterday carelessly if he had not in his portfolio a half a dozen sonnets on Ravenna. And do you know what took place? At first he grew pale, and answered, 'Not yet,' but added that he would begin to write soon; then he threw his hat on the floor suddenly, and began to sob like a child. Never have I seen an outburst of similar suffering. He just wrung his hands, saying that he had murdered his talent; that there was nothing more left in him; that never would he have power to write another line; that he would prefer a hundred times that Panna Helena had not saved him. You see what is happening within him; while people will say, surely, that he does not write because he has money. And this, beyond doubt, will remain so. They have killed the poor man, murdered soul and talent in him, put out the strong fire from which light and warmth might have come to people. And that, see you, I could not forget. God be with Panna Castelli! but it was not right for her to pluck such feathers to make for herself a fan, which she threw out of the window soon after. No! I could not forget this! Never mind what I said in Warsaw, that now she must find a Prince Crapulescu, since no one else will take her; for, besides that kind, there are blind men in the world also,--plenty of them. As to me, I am neither Prince Crapulescu, nor blind. It is permitted to forgive wrongs done to one's self, but not those done to others; for that would be too easy. And this is all that I can tell you touching this matter, for you yourselves know the rest. I am waiting out the year; then I shall repeat my prayer to Panna Ratkovski. If she wants me, or rejects me, may God bless her in every case; but still that is my unchangeable decision."
"Indeed!" interrupted Marynia; "but whence did such news come?"
But in the continuation of the letter Svirski gave an exact answer.
"All this gossip" (wrote he), "may have arisen from this that I have seen those ladies rather often. You remember that, during my former stay in Rome, Pani Bronich wrote to me first, and I was with them. Panna Castelli, instead of seeking evasions, blamed herself. I confess that that affected me. Let people say what they like, still in an open confession of fault there is a certain awakening of honesty, a certain courage, a certain turn, a groan of sorrow, which, if it does not redeem the offence, may redeem the soul. And believe me that in this which I say there is more than my heart of butter. Think, also, that in truth it is evil for them. Are the times few in which I have seen the hesitation with which they approach people, and how they are received by persons who have the courage of their principles? So much bitterness has gathered in these two women, that, as Vaskovski said with truth once, they are beginning to be embittered against themselves. That is a terrible position, in which one belongs, as it were, to the world, and carries the burden of a notable scandal. God be with them! Much might be written of this; but I remember always what Panna Helena said,--that one must not despair of a man while he lives. That unfortunate Lineta has changed from grief; she has grown thin and ugly, and I am very sorry for her. I am sorry even for Pani Bronich, who, it is true, bores holes in people's ears with her lies; but she does it out of attachment to that girl. Still, as I have said, it is permitted only to forgive wrongs done ourselves; but a man would be a kind of gorilla, and not a Christian, if he did not feel a little pity over the misfortunes of people. Whether I shall have the heart to go to them again after having seen the despair of Ignas, I know not. I am not sorry, however, that I was there. People will talk; they will stop talking; and after a year or so, if God grant me and that dear maiden to wait it out, they will see that they are talking nonsense."
The letter finished with a reference to the Osnovskis, of whose reunion Svirski knew; he had heard, even, various details which were unknown to Pan Stanislav.
"To think" (wrote he) "that God is more powerful than the perversity of man, and also is fabulously merciful, and that sometimes He permits misfortune to beat a man on the head as with a hammer, so as to knock some spark of honesty out of him. I believe now even in the rebirth of such as Pani Aneta. Maybe it is naïve in me, but at times I admit that there are no people in the world who are completely bad. See, something quivered in Pani Aneta even; she nursed him in his sickness. Oi, those women! Everything is so turned around in my head that soon I shall not have an opinion, not merely about them, but about anything."
Further on were questions about Stas, and heartfelt words for his life-givers, and finally a promise to return in the first days of spring.
Chapter LXIX
But spring was coming really, and, besides, it was as warm as it was early. Pan Stanislav, at the end of March and the beginning of April, began again to make journeys, and sometimes to spend a number of days away from home. He and Bigiel were so busied that often they remained in the counting-house till late in the evening. Pani Bigiel supposed that they must be undertaking something large; but it astonished her that her husband, who always spoke with her about his business, and almost thought aloud in her presence, and even frequently took counsel with her, was as silent now as if spell-bound. Marynia noticed also that "Stas" had his head filled with something in an unusual manner. He was more tender toward her than ever; but it seemed to her that in that tenderness of his, as well as in every conversation and every petting, there was some third thing, another thought, which occupied him so thoroughly that lie could not keep away from it even a moment. And this state of distraction increased daily till the beginning of May, when it passed into something feverish. Marynia began to hesitate whether to ask or not, what the matter was. She was a little afraid to intrude; but for her it was important also that he should not think that his affairs concerned her too little. In this uncertainty, she determined to wait for a favorable moment, hoping that he himself would begin to touch on his business, even remotely.
In fact, it seemed to her, on a certain day soon after, that the opportune moment had come. Pan Stanislav returned from the counting-house earlier than usual, and with a face in some way wonderfully radiant, though serious, so that, looking him in the eyes, she asked, almost mechanically,--
"Something favorable must have happened, Stas?"
He sat near hers and instead of answering directly, began to talk with a voice which was strange in some sort,--
"See how calm and warm. The windows might be opened now. Dost thou know what I've been thinking of these last days? That for thy health and Stas's we ought to go soon from the city."
"But is not Buchynek rented?" asked Marynia.
"Buchynek is sold," answered he. Then, taking both her hands and looking into her eyes with immense affection, he said,--
"Listen, my dear, I have something to tell thee, and something which ought to please thee; but promise not to be excited too much."
"Well, what is it, Stas?"
"Seest thou, my little one? Mashko fled to foreign parts; for he had more debts than property. His creditors threw themselves on everything which was left after him, so as to recover even something. Everything went into liquidation. Magyerovka has been parcelled, and is lost; but Kremen, Skoki, and Suhotsin could be saved. Do not grow excited, my love; I have bought them for thee."
Marynia looked at him some time, blinking, and as if not believing her ears. But no! He was so moved himself that he could not jest. Her eyes were darkened with tears, and all at once she threw both arms around his neck.
"Stas!"
And at that moment she could not find other words; but in this one exclamation there were thanks and great love, and a woman's homage for the efficiency of that man who had been able to do everything. Pan Stanislav understood this; and in the feeling of that immense happiness which he had not known hitherto, he began to speak, holding her still at his breast,--
"I knew that this would comfort thee, and God knows there is no greater pleasure for me than thy delight. I remembered that thou wert sorry for Kremen, that that was an injustice to thee, and that it was possible to correct it; therefore I corrected it. But that is nothing! If I had bought ten such Kremens for thee, I should not have repaid thee for the good which thou hast done me, and still I should not be worthy of thee."
And he spoke sincerely; but Marynia removed her head from his shoulder, and, raising on him her eyes, which were at once moist and bright, said,--
"It is I, Stas, that am not worthy of thee; and I did not even hope to be so happy."
Then they began to dispute who was the more worthy; but in that dispute there were frequent intervals of silence, for Marynia, every moment embracing him, pushed up to him her mouth, beautiful, though a little too wide, and kissed him; and then he kissed in turn her eyes and her hands. For a long time yet she wanted now to cry, now to laugh from delight; for really her happiness surpassed everything which she had ever hoped for. Her mother had written once, with a weakening hand, "One should not marry to be happy, but to fulfil the duties which God imposes; happiness is only an addition and a gift of God." Meanwhile this addition was now too great to find place in her heart. There had been trials, there had been moments of grief to her, and even of doubt; but all had passed, and at last that "Stas" not only loved her as the sight of his eye, but he had done more than he had ever promised.
And at that moment, while walking with long strides through the room, still excited, but pleased with himself, and with an expression of complete boastfulness on his dark, challenging face, he said,--
"Well, Marys[16]! Now for the first time will work begin, will it not? For I haven't the least idea of country life and that will be thy affair. But I think that I shall not be the worst of managers. We shall both work, for that Kremen is a big undertaking."
"My golden Stas," answered she, clasping her hands, "I know that thou hast done that for me; but will it not injure thee in business?"
"In business? It is thy idea, perhaps, that I let myself be stripped. Not at all! I bought cheaply, very cheaply. Bigiel, who is afraid of everything, still confesses that that is a good purchase; besides, I remain in company with him for the future. But only be not afraid of Kremen, Marys, or the old troubles. There will be something to work with; and I tell thee sincerely that if to-day all Kremen were to sink in the earth, we should have enough to support us, together with Stas."
"I," said Marynia, looking at him more or less as she would on Napoleon, or some other conqueror of similar size, "am certain that thou wilt do all that thou wishest, but I know that it was only for me that Kremen was bought."
"And I hope that I bought it, too, because thy mother is lying there, because I love thee, and because thou lovest Kremen," answered Pan Stanislav. "But in thy way thou hast brought me back to the soil. I recall thy words in Venice when Mashko wanted to sell Kremen to Bukatski. Thou hast no idea of how I am under thy influence. Sometimes thou wilt say a thing, and I for the moment make no answer; still it remains in me, and later it is heard unexpectedly. So it was in this business. It seems strange to me now for a man to dwell on this planet, to have some wealth, as it were, and not have three square ells of this earth, concerning which he might say 'mine.' Then the question was settled. Then came the purchase. Perhaps thou hast noticed that for some months I have been buzzing about like a fly in a caldron. I did not wish to speak to thee till all was finished; I preferred a surprise. And thou hast it! This is because thou hast recovered, and art so beloved."
Here he seized her hands, and began to press them again to his mouth and his forehead. She wanted to kiss his hands, too, but he would not permit that; and at last they began to run after each other, like children, through the room, speaking to each other words which were kindly, and bright as sunbeams. Marynia wanted so much to go straight to Kremen, and to such a degree was she unable to think of aught else, that at last he threatened to grow jealous of Kremen, and to sell it.
"Oi! thou wilt not sell," said she, shaking her head.
"Why not?"
"Because," said she, taking his ear, and whispering into it, "thou lovest me."
And he began to nod in sign that that was true. But they agreed, to the great delight of Marynia, to go with their whole household to Kremen at the end of the week,--a thing perfectly possible, for Pan Stanislav had made the house ready for the coming of the "heiress." He assured her, too, that almost nothing had changed, and he had tried only that the rooms should not seem too empty; then he began to laugh suddenly, and said, "I am curious to know what papa will say to this."
The conjectural astonishment of "papa" was a new cause of delight to Marynia. For that matter, there was no need to wait long for Plavitski, since he came to dinner half an hour later. He had barely showed himself when Marynia, throwing herself on his shoulder, told with one breath the happy news; he was really astonished, and even moved. Perhaps he felt the happiness of his daughter; perhaps there was roused in him an attachment for that corner, in which he had lived so many years; it is enough that his eyes grew moist. First he mentioned his sweat, with which that soil was soaked; then he began to say something of the "old man," and of his "refuge in the country;" at last, pressing Pan Stanislav's head between his palms, he said,--
"God grant thee luck to manage as well as I have managed, and be assured that I shall not refuse thee either my assistance or my counsels."
In the evening, at the Bigiels', Marynia, still intoxicated with her happiness, said to Pani Bigiel,--
"Well, now, tell me, how could I help loving a man like that?"
FOOTNOTES:
[16] Pronounced Márees, a diminutive of Marynia.
Chapter LXX
Next morning after the arrival of the Polanyetskis in Kremen, it was Sunday. Pan Stanislav himself rose late, for they had come at one o'clock the night previous. In Kremen the servants had been waiting with bread and salt for them. Marynia, laughing and weeping in turn, examined every corner in the house, and after that was unable to fall asleep, from emotion, till almost daylight. For all these reasons Pan Stanislav did not permit her to rise; but since she wanted to go to Mass at Vantory rather early, so as to pray at the church for her mother, he promised to have the carriage ready, and let her know when it was time. Immediately after breakfast he went out to look at his new inheritance. It was the second half of May, and the day was exceptionally beautiful. Rain had fallen in the night, and the sun was shining on little pools in the yard; and on the buildings it was reflected in diamond brightness in raindrops hanging on the leaves, and it made the wet roofs of the barns, cow-houses, and sheep-houses gleam. In that glitter, and in the bright May green of the trees, Kremen seemed altogether charming. Around the buildings there was hardly any movement, for it was Sunday; but at the stable were busied some men, who had to drive to church. This silence and sleepiness struck Pan Stanislav strangely. Having intended for some time to buy Kremen, he had been there repeatedly, and knew that it was a neglected property. Mashko had begun, it is true, to build a granary, which was covered with a red roof, but he had not finished it. He had never lived in the place himself, and toward the end could not expend anything on the property, hence neglect was visible at every step. But never had it seemed to Pan Stanislav neglected so absolutely as now, when he was able to say to himself, "This is mine." The buildings were somehow leaning; the walls in them not very solid; the fences were inclining and broken; under the walls were lying fragments of various broken agricultural implements. Everywhere the earth seemed desirous of drawing into itself that which was on its surface; everywhere was seen a kind of passive abandonment of things to themselves; everywhere carelessness was visible. Of agriculture Pan Stanislav knew only this, that there was need to be careful in expenses; for the rest, he had not the least conception of it, save some general information, which had struck his ears in childhood. But, looking at his kingdom, he divined that cultivation of its fields must coincide exactly with that carelessness which he saw around; he had a clear feeling that if anything was done there it was rather from custom, from routine, as it were, and because of this alone, that some such thing had been done ten, twenty, a hundred years earlier. That exertion, that untiring, watchful energy, which is the basis of commerce, of industry, and of city industry in general,--of that there was not a trace. "If I brought nothing more than that to this torpor," said Pan Stanislav, "it would be very much, for there is an absolute lack of energy. Besides, I have money, and at least this much knowledge,--that I know to begin with that I know nothing, and second, I know that I must learn and inquire." He remembered, besides, from his Belgian times, that even abroad, even there in Belgium, the spirit of man and the exertion of will meant more than the most powerful machines. And in this regard he counted on himself, and he was able to count. He felt that he was a persistent and active man. Everything taken in hand by him hitherto had to move, whether it would or not. He felt, besides, that in business he had a head that was not fantastic, but one reckoning accurately; and, thanks to this feeling, not only did he not lose confidence at sight of the neglect which he saw before him, but he found in it something like a spur. That torpor, that neglect, that inertia, that sleepiness, seemed to challenge him; and, casting his eyes around, he said to them almost with pleasure, "That's all right; we'll have a trial!" And he was even in a hurry for the trial.
These first reviews and thoughts did not spoil his humor, but took much time. Looking at his watch, he saw that if he wished to be in Vantory for Mass, it was time to start at once; giving the order, then, to attach the horses, he returned hastily to the house, and knocked at Marynia's door.
"Lady heiress!" called he, "the service of God!"
"Yes, yes!" answered the gladsome voice of Marynia through the door, "I am ready."
Pan Stanislav went in, and saw her in a light summer robe, like that in which he saw her at his first visit in Kremen. She had dressed thus purposely; and he, to her great delight, understood her intention, for he exclaimed, stretching out his hands to her,--
"Panna Plavitski!"
And she, as if embarrassed, put her nose up to his face, and pointed to the cradle, in which Stas was sleeping.
Then they drove to the church with Papa Plavitski. It was a spring day, bright, full of warm breezes and gladness. In the groves the cuckoos were calling, and on the fields striding storks were visible. Along the road hoopoos and magpies flew from tree to tree before the carriage. From time to time a breeze sprang up and flew over the green fleeces, as over waves, bending the blades of grass, and forming quivering shades on the green of the fields. Around about was the odor of the soil, of grass, of spring. He and she were seized by a swarm of reminiscences. In her was called forth, though a little blunted by life in the city, that love of hers for land, and the country, the forest and green fields, the fruits in the fields, the pastures narrowing in the distance, the broad expanses of air, and that extent of the sky which is far greater than in cities. All this filled her with a half-conscious feeling which verged on the intoxication of delight. And Pan Stanislav remembered how once, in the same way, he had ridden to church with Pan Plavitski, and how, in like manner, the hoopoos and magpies flew from tree to tree before him. But now he felt at his side that rosy woman, whom he had seen then for the first time,--that former Panna Plavitski. In one word, he made present in his mind all that had taken place between them: the first acquaintance, and that charm with which she possessed him; their later disagreement; that strange part which Litka played in their lives; their marriage, later life, and the hesitations of happiness; the changes which, under the influence of that clear spirit, took place in him, and the present clearing up of life. He had also a blissful feeling that the evil had passed; that he had found more than he had dreamed of; that at present, it is true, misfortunes of every kind might come on him; but with reference to relations with her, his life had become clear once for all, and very honorable, almost equally the same as "the service of God," and as much more sunny than the past as that horizon which surrounded them was sunnier than that of the city. At this thought, happiness and affection for her overflowed his heart. Arriving at Vantory, he repeated "eternal repose" for the soul of that mother to whom he was thankful for such a wife, with no less devotion than Marynia herself. It seemed to him that he loved that dust, buried under the church, with the same filial affection as the dust of his own mother.
But now the bell sounded for Mass. In the church again old memories thronged into his mind. Everything around him was known somehow, so that at moments he felt the illusion that he had been there yesterday. The nave of the church was filled with the same gray crowd of peasants, and the odor of sweet flag; the same priest was celebrating Mass at the altar: the same birch branches, moved by the breeze, were striking the window from the outside; and Pan Stanislav thought again, as before, that everything passes, life passes, pains pass, hopes, impulses, pass, directions of thought and whole systems of philosophy pass, but Mass, as of old, is celebrated, as if in it alone were eternal indestructibility. Marynia alone was a new form in the old picture. Pan Stanislav, looking at moments on her calm face, and her eyes raised to the altar, divined that she was praying with her whole soul for their future life in the country; hence he accommodated himself to her, and prayed with her.
But after Mass, on the church square, neighbors surrounded them, old acquaintances of Pan Plavitski and Marynia. Plavitski, however, looked around in vain for Pani Yamish; she had been in the city for a number of days. Councillor Yamish was cured completely from catarrh of the stomach; and therefore well, and made young, at the sight of Marynia he fell into genuine enthusiasm.
"Here is my pupil!" cried he, kissing her hand, "the house mistress! my golden Marynia! Aha! the birds have come back to the old nest. But how beautiful she is always, as God is true,--a young lady, just a young damsel to look at, though I know that there is a son in the house."
Marynia was blushing from delight; but at that moment the Zazimskis approached, with their six children, and with them also Pan Gantovski, called commonly "Little Bear," the former unsuccessful rival for Marynia, and the incomplete slayer of Mashko. Gantovski approached awkwardly and with some confusion, as if dazzled by Marynia's beauty, and seized with sorrow for the happiness which had missed him. In fact, Marynia greeted him with comic awkwardness; but Pan Stanislav stretched his hand to him in friendliness, with the magnanimity of a conqueror, and said,--
"Oh, I find here acquaintances even from years of childhood. How are you?"
"In the old fashion," answered Gantovski.
But Pan Yamish, who was in excellent humor, said, looking teasingly at the young man,--
"He has his cares in regulating peasant privileges."
Gantovski grew still more confused, for the whole neighborhood was talking of those troubles. For some years the poor fellow had been barely able to live in that Yalbrykov of his. The regulation of peasant privileges and the selling of timber might have brought him to the open road at length, when in opposition to all the conditions, which more than once had been near settlement, there rose the eternal unchangeable reproach on the part of his Yalbrykov neighbors that "the lord heir rides on a white horse, fires from pistols, and looks into the girls' eyes."
Gantovski, though accustomed from years of youth to various country troubles, lost at times his patience and cried out in genuine despair,--
"Well, dog blood! what has one to do with the other? May the brightest thunderbolts shake every one of you!"
But after such a convincing dictum, the Yalbrykov peasant representatives assembled as usual a new mature council, and, after a careful consideration of everything, for and against, announced again, while scratching the backs of their heads, that all would be right, but that "the lord heir rides on a white horse, fires from pistols, and looks at the girls."
Meanwhile Marynia, who had as much attachment for Pan Yamish as if he had been one of the family, when she heard that he was a straw widower, invited him to dinner. But beyond expectation Plavitski, angry because he had not found Pani Yamish in Vantory, and mindful of his Sunday whist parties with "Gantos," invited Gantovski too, in consequence of which the Polanyetskis drove ahead very hurriedly, so that Marynia might have time to make needful arrangements. Behind them came Plavitski and the councillor; Gantovski dragged on in the rear in his brichka drawn by a lean Yalbrykov nag.
Along the road Plavitski said to Councillor Yamish,--
"I cannot tell you. My daughter is happy. He is a good man and an energetic piece, but--"
"But what?" asked Pan Yamish.
"But flighty. Thou hast in mind, neighbor, that he pressed me so hard for some wretched twelve thousand rubles that I was forced to sell Kremen. And what then? Then he bought back that same Kremen. If he had not squeezed me, he would not have had to buy Kremen, for he would have had it for nothing with Marynia after my death. He is a good-natured man, but here" (and while he was saying this, Plavitski tapped his forehead with his finger) "there is something lacking! What is true, is not a sin."
"Hm!" answered Yamish, who did not wish to cause bitterness to Plavitski by the remark that if Kremen had remained longer in his hands nothing would have been left of it.
Plavitski sighed, and said,--
"But for me in my old age new toil, for now everything must go by my head."
With difficulty did Pan Yamish restrain himself from shouting, "May God forbid!" but he knew Pan Stanislav well enough to know that there was no danger. Plavitski did not believe much in what he himself said; he was a little afraid of his son-in-law, and he knew well that now everything would go by another head.
Thus conversing, they drove up to the porch. Marynia, who had arranged everything already for the dinner, received them with Stas in her arms.
"I wanted to present my son to you before we sat down to table," said she; "a big son! a tremendous boy! a nice son!"
And in time to these words she began to sway him toward Pan Yamish. Pan Yamish touched Stas's face with his fingers, whereupon the "nice son" first made a grimace, then smiled, and all at once gave out a sound which might have a certain exceptionally important meaning for investigators of "esoteric speech;" but for an ordinary ear it recalled wonderfully the cry of a magpie or a parrot.
Meanwhile Gantovski came, and having hung up his overcoat on a peg in the entrance, he was looking in it for a handkerchief, when, by a strange chance, Rozulka, young Stas's nurse, found herself also in the entrance, and approaching Gantovski, embraced his knees, and then kissed his hands.
"Oh! how art thou, how art thou? What wilt thou say?" asked the heir of Yalbrykov.
"Nothing! I only wished to make obeisance," said Rozulka, submissively.
Gantovski bent a little to one side, and began to search for something with his fingers in his breast pocket; but evidently she had come only to bow to the heir, for, without waiting for a gift, she kissed his hand again, and walked away quietly to the nursery.
Gantovski went with a heavy face to the rest of the company, muttering to himself in bass,--
"Um-dree-dree! Um-dree-dree! Um-dramta-ta!"
Then all sat down at the table, and a conversation began about the return of the Polanyetskis to the country. Pan Yamish, who, of himself, was an intelligent man, and, as a councillor, must be wise by virtue of his office, and eloquent, turned to Pan Stanislav, and said,--
"You come to the country without a knowledge of agriculture, but with that which is lacking mainly to the bulk of our country residents,--a knowledge of administration, and capital. Hence, I trust, and I am sure, that you will not come out badly in Kremen. Your return is for me a great joy, not only with reference to you and my beloved pupil, but because it is also a proof of what I say always, and assert, that the majority of us old people must leave the land; but our sons, and if not our sons, our grandsons, will come back; and will come back stronger, better trained in the struggle of life, with calculation in their heads, and with the traditions of work. Do you remember what I told you once,--that land attracts, and that it is genuine wealth? You contradicted me, then, but to-day--see, you are the owner of Kremen."
"That was through her, and for her," answered Pan Stanislav, pointing to his wife.
"Through her, and for her," repeated the councillor; "and do you think that in my theory there is no place for women, and that I do not know their value? They divine with heart and conscience where there is real obligation, and with their hearts they urge on to it. But land is a real obligation, as well as real wealth."
Here Pan Yamish, who, in the image and likeness of many councillors, had this weakness, that he was fond of listening to himself, closed his eyes, so as to listen still better, and continued,--
"Yes, you have returned through your wife! Yes, that is her merit; and God grant us that such women be born more frequently! But in your way you have all come out of the soil, and therefore soil attracts you. We ought to have the plough on our escutcheons, all of us. And I tell you more, not only did Pan Stanislav Polanyetski return, not only did Pani Marynia Polanyetski return, but the family of the Polanyetskis returned, for in it was awakened the instinct of whole generations, who grew out of the soil, and whose dust is enriching it."
When he had said this, Pan Yamish rose, and taking a goblet, exclaimed,--
"In the hands of Pani Polanyetski, the health of the family of the Polanyetskis!"
"To the health of the family of the Polanyetskis!" cried Gantovski, who, having a feeling heart, was ready to forgive the family of the Polanyetskis all the sufferings of heart through which he had passed by reason of them.
And all went with their glasses to Pani Marynia, who thanked them with emotion; but to Pan Stanislav, who approached her, she whispered,--
"Ai, Stas, how happy I am!"
But when all in the company found themselves again at their places, Papa Plavitski added, on his part,--
"Keep the soil to the very last! that is what I have been advocating all my life."
"That is certain!" confirmed Gantovski.
But in his soul he thought, "If it were not for those dog blood troubles!"
And at that very time, in the nursery, Rozulka was singing little Stas to sleep with the sad village song,--
"Those ill-fated chambers. Oi, thou my Yasenku!"
After dinner, the guests were making ready to separate; but Plavitski kept them for a "little party," so that they went away only when the sun was near setting. Then the Polanyetskis, having amused themselves first with little Stas, went out on the porch, and further, to the garden, for the evening was calm and clear. Everything reminded them of that first Sunday which they had spent there together; it seemed to them like some wonderful and pleasant dream, and reminiscences of that kind were there without number at every step. The sun was going down in the same way, large and shining; the trees stood motionless in the stillness of evening, reddening at the tops from the evening light; on the other side of the house the storks were chattering in the same way on their nests; there was the same mood of all things around them, cherishing and vesperal. They began to walk about, to pass through all the alleys, go to the fences, look at the fields, which lost themselves in the distance, at the narrow strips of woods barring the horizon, and to say quiet things to each other, and also as quietly as that evening was quiet. All this which surrounded them was to be their world. Both felt that that village was taking them into itself; that some relation was beginning to weave itself between them and it; that henceforth their life must flow there, not elsewhere,--laborers, devoted to the "service of God" in the field.
When the sun had gone down, they returned to the porch; but, as on that first occasion, so now they remained on it, waiting for perfect darkness. But formerly Marynia had kept at a distance from Pan Stanislav; now she nestled up to his side, and said, after some silence,--
"It will be pleasant for us here with each other, Stas, will it not?"
And he embraced her firmly, so as to feel her at his very heart, and said,--
"My beloved, my greatly beloved!"
Then from beyond the alder-trees, which were wrapped in haze, rose the ruddy moon; and the frogs in the ponds, having learned, evidently, that the lady had returned, she whom they had seen so often at the shore, called in the midst of the evening silence, in one great chorus,--
"Glad! glad!"
THE END.
Transcriber's Note
Page numbers given in these notes refer those of the printed source.
Certain compound words appear with and without hyphens. Should the sole use of a hyphen appear at a line break in the original, the most common form is followed, or modern usage applied if no other instances exist.
The list below describes the various textual issues encountered, most of them likely printer's errors, and their resolution. The printer seems to have particular trouble with the Polish proper names and honorifics. Where there were inconsistent or apparently incorrect usages, a Polish language text was used to confirm the correct forms.
This text is organized as three books. The translator for our edition eliminated the books and re-numbered the chapters consecutively.
In Chapter LXIV, the first name of Mashko's wife appears once as both 'Terenia' (p. 624) and 'Teresia' (p. 626). 'Terenia' is to be the correct spelling.
p. 57 I never go out of the city in summer.["] Added.
p. 82 and be at rest as to Mashko.['/"] Corrected.
p. 119 and from the offence given by him[.] Added.
p. 140 answered Pani Emilia[,] Added.
p. 153 in whom irritation against Mashko [has] sic. been gathering
p. 233 Pan Mashko is a practical man[.] Added.
p. 258 and kiss her feet[.] Added.
p. 304 Bukat[ks/sk]i was then in a fit Transposed.
p. 357 But, my Ane[kt/tk]a Transposed.
p. 387 Pann[i/a] Castelli Corrected.
p. 408 Sche[w/v]eningen Changed to match all other instances.
p. 411 had shown himse[l]f Added.
p. 422 looked at her with a[s]tonishment Added.
p. 429 those formulas sati[s]fied Pani Mashko Added.
p. 451 those "who were kind" to Prytulov[.] Added.
p. 462 down at his side, said,[--] Added.
but at the same [time?] exceptionally sic.
p. 523 Osno[sv/vs]ki, knowing nothing Transposed.
p. 524 spite against Steftsia Ratkov[ks/sk]i Transposed.
p. 525 ["]Koposio laughs at her Added.
p. 528 ["]They have not returned yet; Added.
p. 604 "What does Kresov[s]ki say?" Added.
p. 626 Tere[s/n]ia Corrected.