Генрик Сенкевич
In Vain
CHAPTER XXI
Augustinovich went directly from Pani Visberg's to the hospital, where he remained all night. Yosef was ill, very ill. Typhus rushed at that strong organism, threatening it with utter destruction. About midnight the sick man began to rave; he talked with himself, and argued obstinately on the immortality of the soul with a black cat which he saw sitting on the bed. It appeared that he feared death, for a number of times indescribable terror was depicted on his face. He feared and trembled very acutely after every movement of Augustinovich. At moments he sang with a quivering voice, and as it were through sleep various gladsome and melancholy songs, or conversed with acquaintances. There was even a kind of astonishing humor in the naturalness of tones in these conversations.
Augustinovich, unmanned already by the events of preceding days, was irritated unspeakably. He waited for morning with longing, looking often at the window-panes, which, as if through spite, continued to be as black as ever. Outside there was deep darkness, and fine rain began to cut the window-panes, filling the hospital chamber with a sound which was monotonous and disagreeable.
For a long time such sad and disquieting thoughts had not wandered into Augustinovich's head as at that moment. Resting his elbows on his knees and covering his face with his hands, he meditated over the marvellous and painful complication of events during the last few days. Sometimes he raised his head and cast a quick glance at the sick man; at times it seemed to him that the gloom of death was falling on the withered, sharp features of Yosef.
Augustinovich pondered over this, how a man, so active and broadly living a short time before, would be in a couple of days, perhaps, something dead, which they would bury in the ground, and the comedy would be ended! Oh, an ordinary, everyday thought, and every day equally bitter for those who must think: This is the end! dust! Still, when he lived with full life, he judged, analyzed, acted perhaps more widely than others. As a plough turns out the sod, so he, in the soil of life, from the furrows of good and evil was winning good and – ? Involuntarily one asks for the moral sense of this fable. Where, when, on what planets, will living persons find an answer beyond the tomb? Immortality? – In the ocean of human acts perhaps a few moral atoms of the deeds of the dead survive, but that I, powerful, energetically self-conscious, where is it? And those atoms of acts are like the corpse of a sailor dropped down from a ship into the abyss of the sea. Where shall we look for them, and who will find them? Will God ever fish them out from those shoreless billows, and will He develop from them a new self-conscious being? "È bene trovato!" The bitterness of these thoughts settled now on the sleepy forehead of Augustinovich, but meanwhile the window-panes from black began to turn gray. It was dawning. In the chamber the light of the candle grew rosier gradually and fainter, objects began to issue from the shade. In the corridors were heard now the steps of the hospital servants. An hour later the doctor came in.
"How is the patient?" inquired he.
"Ill," answered Augustinovich, abruptly.
The doctor thrust out his lower lip with importance, wrinkled his forehead, and felt the pulse of the sick man.
"What do you think?" inquired Augustinovich.
"Well, what? I think nothing – he is ill, very ill."
A shade of irony passed over Augustinovich's face.
"But I think, professor, that medicine is a very dull child which believes that if it takes its heels in its hands it can lift itself. Is this not the case?"
The doctor nodded a couple of times, prescribed some cooling medicine, and went out. Augustinovich, looking at the prescription, shook his head in his turn, shrugged his shoulders, and sat at the bed.
Meanwhile the patient grew worse toward evening, about midnight he was almost dying. Augustinovich wept like a child and knocked himself against the walls of the chamber. He sat up again through the whole night.
Toward morning it seemed to him that he noticed a slight improvement, but that improvement was deceptive. Pale and red spots appeared on the sick man; evidently he had burnt out in fever and was quenching.
In the evening Pani Visberg came. Augustinovich would not admit her to the room. From his face she learned that something terrible must be happening.
"Is he alive?" cried she.
"He is dying!" answered Augustinovich, briefly.
A few hours later the chaplain of the hospital anointed Yosef. Augustinovich had not strength to be present at the ceremony; he ran out into the city.
He needed to collect his thoughts, he needed to draw breath; he felt that his thoughts were beginning to grow dim – very likely the loss of Yosef would destroy his balance. He had expected everything, but not that Yosef would die.
He did not know himself whither he was hurrying; a number of times he halted as if in fear that he would return too late.
All at once some thought flashed through his head; he noticed that he was standing before Helena's lodgings.
"I will go in. Let her take farewell of him!"
Half an hour later Helena was kneeling at Yosef's bed. Her unbound hair was lying in broad tresses on the bed; she was embracing the sick man's feet with her hands, her face resting on them.
In that room of the hospital reigned a silence of the grave; nothing was heard but the quick broken breath of Yosef.
So passed the long, cursed night, every moment of which seemed the last one for Yosef. Finally, on the thirteenth day from the first the disease was vanquished. Yosef was decidedly better.
At his bed sat, without leaving it, Augustinovich and Helena; the latter seemed to forget the world at that bed. With Yosef's life life returned to Helena also. She was delighted to ecstasy with even the smallest proof of improvement.
At last Yosef regained consciousness.
Augustinovich was not present at that moment; the first person whom he saw was Helena.
The sick man looked at her for a moment; on his forehead a certain working of thought became evident.
At last he recalled her to mind. He smiled. Evidently the smile was forced; still Helena threw herself on her knees with tears of delight.
But Augustinovich when he returned noticed that her presence disquieted the sick man and even tortured him. Yosef did not take his eyes from Helena for an instant; he followed every movement of hers.
With that inane gesticulation peculiar to old or to sick people he moved his lips.
Augustinovich followed Yosef's eyes carefully. He had a foreboding of evil.
Meanwhile, as usual, toward evening the fever increased; still the sick man fell asleep. Augustinovich strove to persuade Helena to go home for rest.
"I will not leave him for a moment," answered she, with what for her was uncommon decision.
Augustinovich took his seat in the armchair in silence and meditated deeply; soon his head began to weigh on him, his lids became leaden, an invincible drowsiness seized him with increasing force, his head dropped on his breast, he nodded to the right, to the left, and fell asleep.
After a while he woke again.
"Is he sleeping?" inquired he, looking at Yosef.
"He is sleeping, but unquietly," answered Helena.
Augustinovich again dropped his head. Suddenly a shriek from Helena roused him.
The sick man was sitting up in bed in a paroxysm of malignant fever; his face was burning, his eyes glittering like those of a wolf; his emaciated hand was extended toward Helena.
"What is this!" cried Augustinovich.
Helena seized him convulsively by the hands; she felt that his whole body trembled.
"Do not torture me!" whispered the sick man, with a hoarse, broken voice. "Thou hast killed Gustav, and now thou wouldst kill me. Away! I do not love thee! Be off!"
Again he fell on the bed.
"Lula, my Lula, save me!" whispered Yosef.
Augustinovich almost by force conducted Helena from the chamber. In the corridor was heard for a while quick conversation, and the name of the countess was repeated. At last Augustinovich returned alone.
He was pale, great drops of sweat were flowing down his forehead.
"Everything is ended now," said he, in a whisper.
Helena ran driven by despair. Yosef's words and the brief conversation with Augustinovich had cleared as with a bloody lightning-flash many circumstances which had been dark to her. She ran with the single object of going straight forward. Her thoughts were burning her like fire, or rather they were thoughts no longer, they were a circle of fire sparks driven around madly by a whirlwind.
The city in that evening hour was lighted with a thousand lamps, calm domestic fires looked through the clear windows at her. She ran on. Through the streets throngs of people flowed forward as usual; some passers-by turned around to gaze at her; one young man said something with a smile, but looking her in the eyes he drew back in fright. She ran on. At last instead of streets there were alleys, next alleys which were emptier and darker. In the windows lights were evident no longer; there the wearied population were sleeping after the toil of the day; in a rare place a lamp gleamed, or the echoes of a footstep were heard.
The night was damp, but calm; a kind of weight oppressive to the spirit was hanging in the atmosphere. From the Dnieper came a harsh breeze; a watery mist left drops on Helena's clothing and hair. On, on she ran. Nervous spasms distorted her face. In spite of the coolness it seemed to her that fire from heaven was falling on her head, her hands, and her breast. Those little fires seemed to dance and whirl about her, and in each one of them she saw the face now of Yosef, now of Gustav. Her cape had fallen off, the wind had torn her hat away, dampness unbound her hair. She fell to the earth a number of times. Soon amid night and emptiness she found herself alone. Only the distant noise of the city and the barking of dogs in that part through which she was hastening pursued her. She ran ever forward.
She felt neither torture nor pain. All her thoughts rushed to one centre; that was her misfortune. When love takes a part of one's life, it pays with disappointment; for Helena love had been everything. Existence for her had ceased now to have sense. The charm was broken. There was no forgiveness for that woman, though she had "loved much;" there could be only peace, not in life, but beyond it.
Meanwhile she ran forward, but strength was deserting her. Her lips had grown parched, her eyes were now dim, her clothing wet and bespattered with mud. She fell oftener and oftener; sometimes she turned her face to the sky, seizing the air greedily. The ground on which she was running became wetter and wetter. From afar could be heard now the sobbing of the wave, and that marvellous converse of water, half fitful, half gloomy.
At the brink Helena halted a moment.
Closing her eyes on a sudden and stretching her hands out before her, the woman rushed forward.
With the plash in the river was heard a short scream, stopped by the water, – her last scream.
Then followed silence. Deep night was in the sky.
CHAPTER XXII
"Everything is marvellously involved in this poor world," said the ancient poet. This is certain, that more than once life becomes so involved that it is only to be cut like that Gordian knot of old. So was it with Yosef.
A few years before he had come to Kieff full of confidence in his own strength. It had seemed to him that he could push forward not only his own fate, but that of others in a way chosen in advance. Meanwhile he had convinced himself that in a short time he had lost the rudder even of his own boat. He had been left to rush and save himself if he wished, but he had to sail with the wind, and therewith he had little happiness in life. In his case, as in that of all men, life, or rather the excess of that seething of youthful years, had to pour out in the single but very narrow direction of love for woman. There was little space between the banks; hence the stream flowed too violently, so that in all Yosef's past there were barely a few peaceful moments. He lacked little of paying with his life for the past, and God knows there was nothing to pay for. After the last incident with Helena the danger might be renewed. Augustinovich feared relapse; happily his fears were not justified.
Yosef improved continually. It was difficult to foresee how long he would have to lie in bed yet; his weakness after the grievous illness was very great, but his return to health was assured.
Augustinovich shortened the long hospital hours to the best of his power and ability, but vain were his efforts to win back the old-time humor. Recent events had made him sedate and sparing of words. He had lost many of his old habits. From the time of Yosef's illness he had not visited Pani Visberg even once, though she came rather often to inquire for Yosef's health.
But if in this way events of recent days had acted on Augustinovich, how much more had they acted on Yosef! Out of his long illness he rose a new man altogether. He had no longer that lively, active, unbending temperament. In his movements there was slowness, in his look heaviness, and as it were indolence.
Augustinovich attributed this, and justly, to the weakness unavoidable after such an illness, but soon he noticed in the sick man other things foreign to him before. A certain marvellous indifference approaching apathy broke through his words. He began to look at the world again, but in a manner entirely different from that in which he had looked at it earlier. He seemed to be capable of no vivacious feeling. It was disagreeable to look at him; these changes had touched not merely his moral side, he had changed physically also. His hair had grown thin, his face was white and emaciated, his eyes had a sleepy look, he had lost his former brightness. Lying whole days without movement, he looked for hours together at one point in the ceiling, or slept. The presence of any one did not seem to concern him.
All this alarmed Augustinovich, especially when he considered that in spite of the speedy return of physical strength these symptoms, if they yielded, yielded very slowly. He sighed when he remembered the former Yosef, and he labored to rouse the present one, but the labor was difficult.
A certain time Augustinovich, sitting by the bed of the sick man, read aloud to him. Yosef was lying on his back; according to habit he was looking at the ceiling. Evidently he was thinking of something else, or was thinking of nothing, for after a certain time annoyance was expressed on his face. Augustinovich stopped reading.
"Dost wish to sleep?"
"No, but the book wearies me."
Augustinovich was reading "Dame aux Camélias."
"Still, there is life and truth here."
"Yes, but there is not judgment to the value of a copper."
"Still, the book raises the question of such women!"
"But whom do such women concern?"
"They once concerned thee."
Yosef said nothing; on his face a slight thoughtfulness was evident.
After a time he asked, —
"What is happening with Helena? Has she been here?"
Augustinovich was confused.
"She has been here, she has been here."
"Well, and now?"
"That is – yes – she is sick, very sick."
Yosef's face continued indifferent.
"What is the matter with her?" asked he, leisurely.
"With her? – She – Well, I will tell thee the truth, only be not frightened."
"Well?"
"Helena is no longer alive – she was drowned."
Some sort of indefinite impression shot over Yosef's face; he made an effort as if to rise in the bed, but after a while he dropped his head on the pillow.
"By accident or design?" asked he.
"Rest, old man, rest; it is not permitted thee to talk much. Later I will tell everything."
Yosef turned to the wall and sank into silence. At that moment a servant of the hospital entered.
"Pani Visberg wishes to see you," said he to Augustinovich.
Augustinovich went out; in the corridor Pani Visberg was waiting.
"What has happened?" inquired he, with concern. "Is some one sick?"
"No, no!"
"What then?"
"Lula has gone away!" said Pani Visberg, in a sad voice.
"Long ago?"
"Yesterday evening. I should have come here at once, for during the whole week I had not heard from Yosef, but Malinka was so afflicted, and had cried so much that I could not let her come. Lula has gone, she has gone!"
"Why did she go?"
"It is difficult to tell. Maybe two weeks from the time that Yosef fell ill, Pelski came again, and soon after proposed to her a second time. She experienced no small suffering from that, for evidently the little man had become attached to her seriously. Still she refused him, giving as cause that she could not marry without attachment. I liked that Pelski well enough. But that is not the point! The honest girl refused him, naturally. How much she suffered during Yosef's sickness! But that again is not the point. She and Pelski parted without anger, and he undoubtedly found her that place in Odessa. Imagine to yourself my astonishment when a few days ago she came to me and declared that Yosef's illness was all that had delayed her departure, that now, when he was better, she would not be a burden on me longer, that she wanted to work for a morsel of bread, and would go. But, my God! was she a burden to me? Malinka became educated and acquired polish in her society; besides, I loved her."
Augustinovich thought awhile; only after long silence did he say, —
"No, kind lady! I understand Lula. When she took lodgings with you she was a spoiled and capricious young girl, who thought that you were receiving her for her coronet, and to be honored yourself; to-day she is quite different."
"Do I reproach her with anything?" asked Pani Visberg.
"That is not a question. I understand how bitter it must have been for you and your daughter to part with her, and it is too bad that you did not let me know of this before. The person whom Yosef was to marry is no longer alive."
"No longer alive?"
"She is not. But except pain for you, this departure will cause no harm. Yosef has not passed examination for his medical degree; he must think of that first of all, for it is his bread. When he recovers and assures a sustenance for himself, he will go to Odessa after her, but for that time is needed. Yosef has changed very much. It is no harm that Lula has done everything that can raise her still more in his esteem."
Pani Visberg went away with a straitened heart. Augustinovich stood awhile on one spot, then he shook himself from his meditation and took on a gloomy look.
"She has rejected Pelski a second time," thought he; "she wants to work for her living! Oh, Yosef, Yosef! even to go through greater suffering than thine – "
He did not finish the thought which he had begun; he waved his hand, and went to the chamber.
"What did Pani Visberg want?" asked Yosef, with an apathetic voice.
"Lula has gone to Odessa," answered Augustinovich, abruptly.
Yosef closed his eyes and remained motionless a long time. At last he said, —
"It is a pity! That was a good girl – Lula."
Augustinovich gritted his teeth and made no answer.
The time came at last when Yosef left the hospital, and a month later he passed his examination as doctor of medicine. It was a clear autumnal day. The two friends, with their diplomas in their pockets, were returning to the house. Yosef's face bore on it yet the marks of disease, but otherwise he was perfectly healthy. Augustinovich walked arm in arm with him; along the road they talked of the past.
"Let us sit here on this bench," said Augustinovich when they entered the garden. "It is a beautiful day, I like to warm myself in the sun on such a day."
They sat down. Augustinovich stretched himself comfortably, drew a long breath, and said with gladsome feeling, —
"Well, old man! we ought to have had in our pockets for the last three months these wretched rolls which we have received only to-day."
"True," replied Yosef, pushing away with his cane a few yellow leaves that were lying at the side of the bench.
"The leaves are falling from the trees, and the birds are moving southward," said Augustinovich. Then lowering his voice and pointing to a flock of wagtails flying above the trees, he added, —
"But wilt thou not go south after the couriers of the sun?"
"I? Whither?"
"To the Black Sea – to Odessa."
Yosef bent, and remained silent for a long time, then he raised his head; on his face was depicted something almost like despair.
"I love her no longer, Adam!" whispered he.
On the evening of that day Augustinovich said to Yosef, —
"We put too much energy into chasing after woman's love; later on that love flies away like a bird, and our energy is wasted."
