Генрик Сенкевич
Children of the Soil
“I am curious to know what she would have done had I given Kremen to her.”
He could not imagine that to himself definitely; but he thought that the loss of that land was for her a great bitterness really, and he regretted it. In this sorrow his anger began to scatter and vanish as mist. His conscience whispered that he had received what he earned. Returning, he said to himself, “But I am thinking of all this continually.”
And really he was. Never had he experienced, in the most important money questions, even half the disquiet, never had he been absorbed so deeply. And again he remembered what Vaskovski had said of himself, that his nature, like Pan Stanislav’s, could not fix its whole power on the acquisition of money. Never had he felt with such clearness that there might be questions more important than those of wealth, and simply more positive. For the second time a certain astonishment seized him.
It was nearly nine when he went to Bigiel’s. Bigiel was sitting in a spacious, empty house with doors opening on the garden veranda; he was playing on a violoncello in such fashion that everything through the house was quivering. When he saw Pan Stanislav he broke off a certain tremolo and inquired, —
“Hast thou been at the Plavitskis’ to-day?”
“Yes.”
“How was the young lady?”
“Like a decanter of chilled water. On such a hot day that is agreeable. They are polite people, however.”
“I foresaw this.”
“Play on.”
Bigiel began to play “Träumerei,” and while playing closed his eyes, or turned them to the moon. In the stillness the music seemed to fill with sweetness the house, the garden, and the night itself. When he had finished, he was silent for a time, and then said, —
“Knowest what? When Pani Emilia comes, my wife will ask her to the country, and with her Marynia. Maybe those ices will thaw then between you.”
“Play the ‘Träumerei’ once more.”
The sounds were given out a second time, with calmness and imagination. Pan Stanislav was too young not to be somewhat of a dreamer; hence he imagined that Marynia was listening with him to the “Träumerei,” with her hand in his hands, with her head on his bosom, loving much, and beloved above all in the world.
CHAPTER X
Pan Plavitski was what is called a well-bred man, for he returned Pan Stanislav’s visit on the third day. He did not return it on the second, for such haste would have indicated a wish to maintain intimate relations; and not on the fourth nor the fifth, for that would have shown a want of acquaintance with the habits of society, – but only within the period most specially and exclusively indicated by command of savoir vivre. Plavitski prided himself all his life on a knowledge of those commands, and esteemed them as his own; the observances of them he considered as the highest human wisdom. It is true that, as a man of sense, he permitted other branches of knowledge to exist, on condition, however, that they should not be overestimated; and especially, that they should not have the claim to force themselves on to people who were truly well-bred.
Pan Stanislav – for whom everything was desirable that would strengthen in any way the thread of further relations with Marynia – was hardly able to conceal his delight at the arrival of Plavitski. That delight was evident in his agreeable reception, full of good-humor. He must have been astonished, besides, at Plavitski, and the influence which the city had exercised on him. His hair shone like the wing of a raven; his little mustaches were sticking up, vying with the color of his hair; his white shirt covered a slender form; his scarf-pin and black vest gave a certain holiday brilliancy to his whole figure.
“On my word, I did not recognize my uncle at the first moment!” cried Pan Stanislav. “I thought that some youngster was coming.”
“Bon jour, bon jour!” answered Plavitski. “The day is cloudy; a little dark here. It must be for that reason that thou didst mistake me for a stripling.”
“Cloudy or clear, what a figure!” answered Pan Stanislav.
And seizing Plavitski by the side, without ceremony, he began to turn him around and say —
“A waist just like a young lady’s! Would that I might have such a one!”
Plavitski, offended greatly by such an unceremonious greeting, but still more delighted at the admiration roused by his person, said, defending himself, —
“Voyons! Thou art a lunatic. I might be angry. Thou art a lunatic!”
“But uncle will turn as many heads as he pleases.”
“What dost thou say?” asked Plavitski, sitting down in an armchair.
“I say that uncle has come here for conquest.”
“I have no thought whatever of that. Thou art a lunatic!”
“But Pani Yamish? or haven’t I seen with my own eyes – ”
“What?”
Here Plavitski shut one eye and thrust out the point of his tongue; but that lasted only an instant, then he raised his brows, and said, —
“Well, as to Pani Yamish? She is well enough in Kremen. Between thee and me, I cannot endure affectation, – it savors of the country. May the Lord God not remember, for Pani Yamish, how much she has tortured me with her affectation: a woman should have courage to grow old, then a relation would end in friendship; otherwise it becomes slavery.”
“And my dear uncle felt like a butterfly in bonds?”
“But don’t talk in that way,” answered Plavitski, with dignity, “and do not imagine that there was anything between us. Even if there had been, thou wouldst not have heard a word about it from me. Believe me, there is a great difference between you of this and us of the preceding generation. We were not saints, perhaps; but we knew how to be silent, and that is a great virtue, without which what is called true nobility cannot exist.”
“From this I infer that uncle will not confess to me where he is going, with this carnation in his buttonhole?”
“Oh, yes, yes! Mashko invited me to-day to dine with a number of other persons. At first I refused, not wishing to leave Marynia alone. But I have sat so many years in the country for her sake that in truth a little recreation is due to me. But art thou not invited?”
“No.”
“That astonishes me: thou art, as thou sayest, an ‘affairist’; but thou bearest a good family name. For that matter, Mashko is an advocate himself. But, in general, I confess that I did not suspect in Mashko the power to place himself as he has.”
“Mashko could place himself even on his head – ”
“He goes everywhere; all receive him. Once I had a prejudice against him.”
“And has uncle none now?”
“I must acknowledge that he has acted with me in all that business of Kremen like a gentleman.”
“Is Panna Marynia of the same opinion?”
“Certainly; though I think that Kremen lies on her heart. I got rid of it for her sake, but youth cannot understand everything. I knew about her views, however, and am ready to endure every bitterness with calm. As to Mashko, in truth, she cannot cast reproach at him for anything. He bought Kremen, it is true, but – ”
“But he is ready to give it back?”
“Thou art of the family, so, speaking between us, I think that that is true. Marynia occupied him greatly, even during our former visit to Warsaw; but somehow the affair did not move. The maiden was too young; he did not please her sufficiently; I was a little opposed myself, for I was prejudiced as to his family. Bukatski sharpened his teeth at him, so it ended in nothing.”
“It did not end, since it is beginning again.”
“It is, for I am convinced that he comes of a very good family, once Italian and formerly called Masco. They came here with Queen Bona, and settled in White Russia at that time. He, if thou hast noticed it, has a face somewhat Italian.”
“No; he has a Portuguese face.”
“That is all one, however. But the plan to sell Kremen and still to keep it – no common head could have worked that out. As to Mashko – yes I think that such is his plan. Marynia is a strange girl, though. It is bitter to say this, that a man understands a stranger sooner than his own child. But if she will only say as Talleyrand did, ‘Paris vaut la messe.’”
“Ah, I thought that it was Henry IV. who said that.”
“Thou didst, for thou art an ‘affairist,’ a man of recent times. History and ancient deeds are not to the taste of you young men, ye prefer to make money. Everything depends, then, on Marynia; but I will not hurry her. I will not, for, finally, with our connections, a better match may be found. It is necessary to go out a little among people and find old acquaintances. That is only toil and torment; but what is necessary, is necessary. Thou thinkest that I go to this dinner with pleasure. No! but I must receive young people sometimes. I hope too that thou wilt not forget us.”
“No, no; I will not.”
“Dost know what they say of thee? – that thou art making money infernally. Well, well, I don’t know whom thou art like – not like thy father! In every case, I am not the man to blame thee, no, no! Thou didst throttle me without mercy, didst treat me as the wolf did the lamb; but there is in thee something which pleases me, – I have for thee a kind of weakness.”
“The feeling is mutual.” said Pan Stanislav.
In fact, Plavitski did not lie. He had an instinctive respect for property, and that young man, who was gaining it, roused in him a certain admiration, bordering on sympathy. He was not some poor relative who might ask for assistance; and therefore Plavitski, though for the moment he had no calculations in regard to Pan Stanislav, resolved to keep up relations with him. At the end of the visit he began to look around on the apartments.
“Thou hast fine lodgings!” said he.
That, too, was true. Pan Stanislav had a dwelling furnished as if he were about to marry. The furnishing itself caused him pleasure, for it gave a certain show of reality to his wishes.
Plavitski, looking around at the drawing-room, beyond which was another smaller apartment furnished very elegantly, inquired, —
“Why not marry?”
“I will when I can.”
Plavitski smiled cunningly, and, patting Pan Stanislav on the knee, began to repeat, —
“I know whom; I know whom.”
“Wit is needed in this case!” cried Pan Stanislav; “try to keep a secret from such a diplomat.”
“Ah ha! whom? The widow, the widow – whom?”
“Dear uncle!”
“Well? May God bless thee, as I bless thee! But now I am going, for it is time to dine, and in the evening there will be a concert in Dolina.”
“In company with Mashko?”
“No, with Marynia; but Mashko too will be there.”
“I will go also, with Bigiel.”
“Then we shall see each other. A mountain cannot meet a mountain, but a man may meet a man any time.”
“As Talleyrand said.”
“Till our next meeting, then!”
Pan Stanislav liked music at times; he had had no thought, though, of going to this concert; but when Plavitski mentioned it, a desire of seeing Mashko seized him. After Plavitski had gone, he thought some time yet whether to go or not; but it might be said that he did this for form’s sake, since he knew in advance that he would not hold out and would go. Bigiel, who came to him for a business consultation in the afternoon, let himself be persuaded easily, and about four o’clock they were in Dolina.
The day, though in September, was so warm and pleasant that people had assembled numerously; the whole audience had a summer look. On all sides were bright-colored dresses, parasols, and youthful women, who had swarmed forth like many-colored butterflies, warmed by the sun. In this swarm, predestined for love, or already the object of that feeling and entertaining it, and assembled there for the pursuit of love and for music, Marynia also was to appear. Pan Stanislav remembered his student years, when he was enamoured of unknown maidens whom he sought in throngs of people, and made mistakes every moment, through similarity of hat, hair, and general appearance. And it happened now to him, to mistake at a distance a number of persons for Marynia, – persons more or less like her; and now, as before, whenever he said to himself, “This is she!” he felt those quivers at the heart, that disquiet which he had felt formerly. To-day, however, anger came on him, for this seemed to him ridiculous; and, besides, he felt that such eagerness for meetings and interviews, by occupying a man, and fixing his attention on one woman, increases the interest which she excites, and binds him all the more to her.
Meanwhile the orchestra began to play before he could find her for whom he was looking. It was necessary to sit down and listen, which he did unwillingly, secretly impatient with Bigiel, who listened with closed eyes. After the piece was ended, he saw at last Plavitski’s shining cylinder, and his black mustaches; beyond him the profile of Marynia. Mashko sat third, calm, full of distinction, with the mien of an English lord. At times he talked to Marynia, and she turned to him, nodding slightly.
“The Plavitskis are there,” said Pan Stanislav. “We must greet them.”
“Where dost thou see them?”
“Over there, with Mashko.”
“True. Let us go.”
And they went.
Marynia, who liked Pani Bigiel, greeted Bigiel very cordially. She bowed to Pan Stanislav not with such coolness as to arrest attention; but she talked with Bigiel, inquiring for the health of his wife and children. In answer, he invited her and her father very earnestly to visit them on the following week, at his place in the country.
“My wife will be happy, very happy!” repeated he. “Pani Emilia too will come.”
Marynia tried to refuse; but Plavitski, who sought entertainment, and who knew from his former stay in Warsaw that Bigiel lived well, accepted. It was settled that they would dine, and return in the evening. The trip was an easy one, for Bigiel’s villa was only one station distant from Warsaw.
“Meanwhile sit near us,” said Plavitski; “right here a number of seats are unoccupied.”
Pan Stanislav had turned already to Marynia, —
“Have you news from Pani Emilia?”
“I wished to ask if you had,” answered she.
“I have not; but to-morrow I shall inquire about Litka by telegram.”
Here the conversation stopped. Bigiel took the seat next to Plavitski, Pan Stanislav on the outside. Marynia turned to Mashko again, so that Pan Stanislav could see only her profile, and that not completely. It seemed to him that she had grown somewhat thin, or at least her complexion had become paler and more delicate during her stay of a few weeks in Warsaw; hence her long eyelashes were more sharply defined and seemed to cast more shade. Her whole form had become more exquisite, as it were. The effect was heightened by a careful toilet and equally careful arrangement of hair, the style of which was different from what it had been. Formerly she wore her hair bound lower down, now it was dressed more in fashion; that is, high under her hat. Pan Stanislav noted her elegant form at a glance, and admired with his whole soul the charm of it, which was evident in everything, even in the way in which she held her hands on her knees. She seemed very beautiful to him. He felt again with great force that if every man bears within him his own type of female charm, which is the measure of the impression that a given woman makes on him, Marynia is for him so near his type that she and it are almost identical, and, looking at her, he said to himself, —
“Oh to have such a wife, to have such a wife!”
But she turned to Mashko. Perhaps she turned even too often; and if Pan Stanislav had preserved all his coolness of blood, he might have thought that she did so to annoy him, and that was the case, perhaps. Their conversation must have been animated, however, for, from time to time, a bright blush flashed over her face.
“But she is simply playing the coquette with him,” thought Pan Stanislav, gritting his teeth. And he wanted absolutely to hear what they were saying; that was difficult, however. The audience, during the long intervals, was noisy enough. Separated by two persons from Marynia, Pan Stanislav could not hear what she said; but after a new piece of music had been finished, he heard single words and opinions from Mashko, who had the habit of speaking with emphasis, so as to give greater weight to each word.
“I like him,” said Mashko. “Every man has a weakness; his weakness is money – I am grateful to him, for he persuaded me – to Kremen – I think, besides, that he is a sincere well-wisher of yours, for he has not spared – I confess, too, that he roused my curiosity.”
Marynia answered something with great vivacity; then Pan Stanislav heard again the end of Mashko’s answer, —
“A character not formed yet, and intelligence perhaps less than energy, but a nature rather good.”
Pan Stanislav understood perfectly that they were talking of him, and recognized Mashko’s tactics equally well. To judge, as it were, with reason and impartially, rather, to praise, or at least to recognize various qualities, and at the same time to strip them of every charm, was a method well known to the young advocate. Through this he raised himself to the exceptional, and, as it were, higher position of a judge. Pan Stanislav knew, too, that Mashko spoke not so much with intent to lower him, as to exalt himself, and that likely he would have said the same thing of every other young man in whom he might suspect a possible rival.
They were finally the tactics which Pan Stanislav himself might have used in a similar case; this did not hinder him, however, from considering them in Mashko as the acme of perversity, and he determined to pay him if the opportunity offered.
Toward the end of the concert he was able to see how far Mashko was assuming the rôle of suitor. When Marynia, wishing to tie her veil, had removed her gloves and they had fallen from her knees, Mashko raised them and held them, together with her parasol; at the same time he took her wrap from the side of the chair and placed it across his arm, so as to give it to her when they were leaving the garden, – in a word, he was entirely occupied with the lady, though he preserved the coolness and tact of a genuine man of society. He seemed also sure of himself and happy. In fact, Marynia, beyond the brief conversation with Bigiel, talked only with Mashko during the time when she was not listening to the music. When they moved toward the gate, she went with him and before her father. Again Pan Stanislav saw her smiling profile turning to Mashko. While talking, they looked into each other’s eyes. Her face was vivacious, and her attention directed exclusively to what he was saying. She was, in fact, coquetting with Mashko, who saw it himself, without admitting, however, for a moment, in spite of his cleverness, that she could do so merely to worry Pan Stanislav.
Before the gate a carriage was waiting in which Mashko seated her and her father. He began then to take leave of them; but Marynia, inclining toward him, said, —
“How is this? Papa has invited you; is it not true, papa?”
“He was to come with us,” said Plavitski.
Mashko took his seat in the carriage, and they drove away, exchanging bows with Bigiel and Pan Stanislav. The two friends walked on a good while in silence; at last Pan Stanislav said, feigning calmness in his voice, —
“I am curious to know if they are betrothed.”
“I do not think they are,” said Bigiel; “but it is tending that way.”
“I too see that.”
“I thought that Mashko would seek property. But he is in love, and that may happen even to a man who is thinking only of a career. Mashko is in love. Besides, by taking her he will free himself from paying for Kremen. No, the business is not so bad as it seems, and the lady is very pretty; what is true, is true.”
And they were silent again. But Pan Stanislav felt so oppressed that he could not control himself.
“This thought that she will marry him is simply a torment to me. And this helplessness! I should prefer anything to such helplessness. I speak to thee openly. What a stupid and ridiculous rôle I have played in the whole affair!”
“Thou hast gone too far, – that may happen to any one; that thou wert her father’s creditor is the fault of remarkable circumstances. Thy understanding of such matters differs utterly from his: thou and he are men from two different planets, hence the misunderstanding. Perhaps the affair was too sharply put by thee; but when I think it all over, too great mildness was not proper, even out of regard to Panna Marynia. By making too great abatements thou wouldst have made them for her, – is it not true? What would have resulted? This, that she helped her father in exploiting thee. No; it was for thee to finish the matter.”
Here the prudent Bigiel checked himself, thought a moment, and said, —
“And as to thy rôle, there is one escape: to withdraw completely, leave events to their course, and tell thyself that all is going according to thy idea.”
“How will it help me,” cried Pan Stanislav, violently, “to say that, when all is going against my idea? – and since I feel foolish, there is no help for it. How could there be? To begin with, I did all this myself, and now I want to undo it. All my life I have known what I wanted, but this time I have acted as if I didn’t know.”
“There are passages in life to be forgotten.”
“That may be, my dear man, but meanwhile interest in life falls away. Is the question whether I am well or ill, rich or naked, the same to me now as it once was? I feel sick at the very thought of the future. Thou art established and connected with life; but what am I? There was a prospect; now there is none. That gives a great distaste for things.”
“But surely Panna Marynia is not the only woman on earth.”
“Why say that? She is the only one now; were there another, I should think of that other. What is the use of such talk? In this lies the question, in this the whole evil, – that she is the only one. A year from now a tile may fall on my head, or I may find another woman: what will happen to-morrow I know not; but that the deuce is taking me to-day, I do know. This is connected in me with other things too, of which to-day I do not care to speak. In external life it is necessary to eat bread in peace, – is not that true? In internal life it is the same. And this is an urgent affair; but I defer internal life till after marriage, for I understand that new conditions work out a new way of thinking, and moreover, I wish to finish one thing before beginning another. But everything grows involved, – not only involved, but vanishes. Barely has something appeared when it is gone. This is the case now. I live in uncertainty. I would prefer if they were already betrothed, for then all would end of itself.”
“I tell thee only this,” said Bigiel: “when I was a boy, I got a thorn in me sometimes; it pained much less to draw the thorn out myself than to let some one else draw it.”
“In that thou art right,” said Pan Stanislav, who added after a while, “The thorn may be drawn if it has not gone in too deeply, and one can seize it. But what are comparisons! When a thorn is drawn out, nothing is lost; but my hope of the future is ruined.”
“That may be true; but if there is no help for it?”
“To accept that view is just what grieves the man who is not an imbecile.”
The conversation stopped here. At the moment of parting Pan Stanislav said, —
“By the way, I should prefer not to be with you on Sunday.”
“Maybe thou wilt do well to stay away.”
