Генрик Сенкевич
In Vain
CHAPTER VI
Meanwhile Augustinovich went to live permanently with Yosef. How different was his former from his present life! Formerly he had had no warm corner, now Yosef gave him a warm corner; he had had no bed, Yosef bought him a bed; he had had no blanket, Yosef bought him a blanket; he had had no clothes, Yosef got clothes for him; he had been without food, Yosef divided his own dinner with him. He found himself in conditions entirely different. Warmed, nourished, in a decent overcoat, combed, washed, shaved, he became a different man altogether. He was, as we have said, a person with a character unparalleled for weakness; conditions of life always created him, he was merely the resultant of forces. So under Yosef's strong hand he changed beyond recognition. He began to enjoy order and plenty, abundance in life. As he had not been ashamed before of anything, so now he began to be ashamed of everything which did not accord with elegant clothing and gloves. The most difficult thing was to disaccustom himself from drinking; but he had no chance to resume his former vice, for Yosef, who guarded him as the eye in his head, did not let him out of sight; he bought vodka for him, but did not let him have money. It would be difficult to describe the impatience with which Augustinovich waited for the moment when Yosef opened the cupboard to pour him a glass. How much he dreamed in that moment, how he represented the taste of the drink to himself, the putting of it to his lips, the touch of it on his tongue, the swallowing through his throat, and finally the solemn entrance of it into his stomach!
But Yosef, to deprive this treat of its humiliating character, drank to him usually.
In the course of time he treated him better; he began to associate him with various affairs of his own and the University, and finally with his own way of thinking. There is no need of saying that Augustinovich took all this to himself, that he repeated Yosef's words where he could preface them usually with, "I judge that, etc." Who would have recognized him? He, for whom nothing had been too cynical, said now in student gatherings when the conversation took too free a turn, "Gentlemen, above all, decency." The students laughed; Yosef himself smiled in silence, but so far he was content with his own work.
We need not add that Yosef attending the same faculty with Augustinovich studied with him evenings. He had then the opportunity of estimating his capabilities to the full. For that mind there was no such thing as more difficult or easier; a certain wild intuition took the place of thought and deliberation. His memory, not so retentive as it was capacious, took the place of labor.
Vasilkevich was a frequent visitor of theirs. At first he came with Karvovski, then he came alone daily at his own hour. His conversations with Yosef, circling about the most important questions of life and science, became more confidential. Those two men felt each other, and each divined in the other a powerful mind and will. A relation founded on mutual esteem seemed to herald a permanent future.
Both seized in their hands the direction of youth in the University; the initiative of general activities started only with them, and since they agreed there was agreement in the University; comradeship and science gained most by that friendship.
"Tell me," inquired Yosef on a time, "what do they say of my action with Augustinovich?"
"Some pay thee homage," answered Vasilkevich; "others laugh. I visited one of thy opponents on behalf of our library; I found there no small crowd, and they were just speaking of thee and Augustinovich. But dost thou know who defended thee most warmly?"
"Well, who was it?"
"Guess."
"Lolo Karvovski."
"No, not he."
"As God lives, I cannot imagine."
"Gustav."
"Gustav?"
"Ah, he told those who were laughing at thee so many agreeable facts – they will not forget them soon, I guarantee that. Thou knowest how well he can do such things. I thought that the deuce would take them."
"I should not have expected this of Gustav."
"I had not seen him for a long time. Oh, he has sunk in that wretched love to the ears. But he is a strong fellow – and I am sorry for him. Tell me, thou art more skilled in this than I am: is he very sick?"
"Oh, he is not well."
"What is it? asthma?"
Yosef nodded. "Excessive work, grief."
"Too bad."
All at once steps were heard on the stairs, the door opened, Gustav walked in.
He was changed beyond recognition. The skin on his face had become wonderfully white, it had grown transparent. From his face came a certain coldness, as from a corpse; a yellowish shade shone from his forehead, which seemed to be of wax. His lips were white; his hair, beard, and mustache looked almost black as compared with that pallor. He was like a man who had passed through a long illness, and on his face had settled certainty concerning himself and a kind of despairing resignation.
Yosef, a little astonished, a little confused, did not know perhaps how to begin. Gustav brought him out of the trouble.
"I have come to thee with a prayer," said he. "Once thou didst promise not to visit the widow; withdraw that promise."
Yosef made a wry face with a kind of constraint. But he only answered, —
"It is not a custom with me to break my word."
"True," answered Gustav, calmly; "but this is something entirely different. If I were to die, for example, the promise would not bind thee, and I, as thou seest, am sick, very grievously sick. Meanwhile she needs protection. I cannot protect her now, I cannot watch over her. I must lie down to rest, for I am wearied somewhat. For that matter, I will tell the whole truth to thee. She loves thee, and beyond doubt thou lovest her also. I have stood in thy way and hers, but now I withdraw. I do so perforce, and I shall not represent this as a sacrifice. I loved her much, and I had a little hope that she would love me some day; but I was mistaken." Here his voice fell an octave lower. "No one has ever loved me. It has been very gloomy for me in life – But what is to be done? Of late I have passed through much, but now that is over. To-day my concern is that she be not left alone. Had I been able to decide on a sacrifice, thou wouldst be her protector to-day. Canst thou do this for me, Yosef? Thou hast energy, thou art rich, and she, I say, loves thee, so thou wilt not end as I have. Oh, it has been hard in this world for me – But never mind. I should not like to do her an injury – I love her yet. I should not wish her to be alone because of me. At times, seest thou, it is not proper to refuse people anything. Go, go to her! Thou and I lived together once, we fought the same trouble, hence thou shouldst do me this favor; for, I repeat, I am sick and I know not whether I shall see her or thee again."
A tear gathered in Vasilkevich's eye; he rose and said, turning to Yosef, —
"Thou shouldst do all that Gustav asks of thee."
"I will go to her, I will protect her," answered Yosef, decidedly. "I give my word of honor to both of you."
"I thank thee," said Gustav. "Go there now."
A little later he was alone with Vasilkevich. The Lithuanian was silent for some time, he struggled with his own heart; finally he spoke in a voice of heartfelt sympathy, —
"Gustav, poor Gustav, how thou must suffer at this moment!"
Gustav made no answer. He drew the air into his mouth with hissing, gritted his teeth, his face quivered convulsively, and a sudden sobbing tore his breast, strength left him completely.
Three days later Yosef and Vasilkevich were sitting in Gustav's lodging. The evening was bright; bundles of moonlight were falling into the room through the panes. At the bedside of the sick man a candle was burning. The sick man himself was still conscious. Almost beautiful was his face, which had grown yellow from suffering, with its lofty forehead, as it rested on high pillows. One emaciated hand lay on the blanket, with the other he pressed his bosom.
The light of the candle cast a rosy gleam on that martyr to his own feelings. The opposite corner of the room was obscure in the shadow. Gustav was giving an account of how he had cared for Helena. From time to time he answered, though with difficulty, now to Yosef, now to Vasilkevich, who, standing at the head of the bed, wiped away the abundant perspiration which came out on the forehead of the sufferer.
"I wish to forewarn thee," said Gustav. "They send her two thousand zlotys yearly (about $250), but she needs from five to six thousand. I earned the rest for her – Push away the candle, and moisten my lips – I took from my own mouth, I did not sleep enough – Sometimes I did not eat a meal for two days – Raise me a little, and support me higher, I cannot speak – There are thirty rubles more for her in that box – It is dark around me – Let me rest – "
A mouse made a piece of paper rustle in one corner; except that, silence held the room. Death was coming.
"I should like to finish our work," continued Gustav. "Tell my associates not to quarrel – Cold is seizing me – I am curious to know if there be a heaven or a hell. I have never prayed – but, but – "
Vasilkevich inclined toward him and asked in a low voice, —
"Gustav, dost thou believe in immortality?"
The sick man could speak no longer; he nodded in sign of affirmation. Then low tones of enchanting music seemed to be given forth in that chamber. Along the rays of the moonlight a legion of angels pushed in from the sky; the room was filled with them, some with white, others with golden or colored wings. They came quietly, bent over the bed. The rustle of their wings was audible.
The spirit of Gustav went away with that low-sounding orchestra.
The funeral took place with great solemnity. The whole University in a body was present around the coffin. Then they spoke for the first time of the accurate knowledge, the toil and sacrifices of the deceased. It appeared from the accounts which Yosef examined that Gustav had earned about four thousand zlotys ($500) yearly. All of this went to the widow; he lived himself like a dog. This voluntary but silent heroism made for him an enduring monument in the hearts of the young men. They discovered also various labors of the deceased which indicated solid acquirements, nay, talent. They found his diary, which was a confession in simple and even blunt words of all the dark side of his life of privation, a kind of apology for the passionate outbreaks of youth, those imaginary but still real sufferings, those struggles, those pains, those internal storms, and conversations held with self. The inner life of enthusiastic natures was unveiled there in all its dark solemnity. It was a terror to look into that chaos which is not to be known in every-day life, in that "so devilishly gilded world," as the poetess calls it.
The memoirs were read at Vasilkevich's rooms; there was even a proposition to print them, though it was not brought into effect somehow. But Augustinovich wrote a paper after Gustav's death. Very eloquently did he describe the man's career. He showed him from years of childhood, when he was still happy. The charm of the description of those spring moments of life was so great that it seemed as though the sun of May had shone upon the writer. Then the picture grew sombre. It was seen how the deceased had left his native cottage; how the dog, the old servant, ran after him howling. Then still darker: life hurled him about, tossed him, rent him. Again a ray shone as if on a cloud. In rainbow form Pani Helena appeared to him – he stretched his arms toward that light. "The rest you know," wrote Augustinovich. "Let him sleep now, and dream of her. The field swallow will sing her name above his grave. Let him rest in peace. The spark is quenched, the bowl is broken – that is Gustav."
But it happens usually that people after his death speak much of a man whom during life they almost buffeted. Let us give peace then to Gustav, and follow the further fortune of our acquaintances, and especially of Yosef, the hero of this volume.
With him nothing had changed, but he himself from the time of his first visit to Pani Helena went about as if in meditation and was silent.
Augustinovich accustomed himself more and more to the new condition.
At the general's the guests danced as before. At the engineer's they pounded on the piano. The countess sang in the evening. Gustav's room was occupied by a shoemaker who had two scrofulous descendants and a wife with a third misery. In the place where thoughts from a noble head had circled and words of warmth had dropped, were now heard the thread and the shoemaker's stirrup.
The widow did not hear of Gustav's death immediately; Yosef concealed it, fearing too violent an impression. Later he was astonished to find that she received the news with sadness, it is true, but with no sign of despair. We have much to tell of those new relations; in the succeeding part we shall pass to them directly.
CHAPTER VII
Yosef, according to his promise given Gustav, visited Helena, and after the second visit went away in love. He returned late at night. The stars were twinkling on a serene sky; from the Dnieper came the cool, but bracing breath of water. Light streaks of mist wound in a long line on the east. There was music in the air and music in Yosef's breast. He was in love! It seemed to him that the serene night had visited his betrothal with happiness. Full happiness is both a remembrance and a hope. Yosef felt yet in his palms the small hands of Helena; he remembered that moment, thought of the tenderness of the morrow, looked forward to that moment. A wonderful thing! She took farewell of him with the word, "Remember;" but who could forget happiness, especially when the future is smiling with it?
He loved! Pressed by the power and the charm of the night, the trembling of the stars and the majesty of dark expanses, he cast a look full of fire to the remotest borders of heavenly loneliness, and whispered with quivering lips, —
"If Thou exist! Thou art great and good."
Notwithstanding the condition set up before this statement, that for Yosef was very much.
He recognized greatness and goodness. He said, "If Thou art." If those words had been spoken about some being, they would be conditional; spoken to some being they were an affirmation of existence: "Thou art."
In spite of all his realism let us not wonder so much at these words. The lips which pronounced them had drunk freshly from the cup of ecstasy.
When Yosef reached home, Augustinovich was sleeping in the best fashion possible; his snoring was heard even on the stairway. He drew out the song of slumber, now short, now long, now lower, now higher, now puffing, now blowing, now whistling.
Yosef roused him.
He determined finally to embrace him.
Augustinovich stared at him with astonished eyes, and at the first moment cried, —
"Go to the – "
Yosef laughed joyously.
"Good-night!" said Augustinovich. "I will tell thee to-morrow where thou art coming from – now I wish to sleep – good-night."
The next day was Sunday. In the morning Yosef poured the tea; Augustinovich, lying in bed yet, and looking at the ceiling, was smoking a pipe. Both were thinking of the day previous.
Finally Augustinovich was the first to speak, —
"Dost thou know what has come to my head?"
"No."
"Then I will tell thee. I will tell thee that it is not worth while to attach one's life to the first woman that comes along; as I wish well to Jove, it is not! There are better things in this world."
"Whence did those ideas come to thee?"
"Straight from the pipe. A man so binds himself to an idea, grows one with it completely, and then something comes and, behold! of those palaces as much remains as of the smoke which I blow out at this moment."
An immense roll of smoke rose up from Augustinovich's lips, and striking the ceiling was scattered on all sides.
The conversation was stopped for a while.
"Yosef, hadst thou been in love before knowing Gustav and Pani Helena?"
"Had I lo-v-ed?" drawled Yosef, looking at the light through his glass of tea. "What? had I loved? Yes, I turned my head for a moment, but that did not push me out of life's ordinary conditions, it did not lead me out of the order of the day. I will say sincerely, though, that I have not been in love."
Augustinovich, raising the stem of his pipe, began to declaim with solemnity, —
"O woman! helpless down! O giddy creature!"
"Well, what is it?" asked Yosef, laughing.
"Nothing, my reminiscences. Ei, it was different with me. I was as mad as a maniac a couple of times. Once, even in spite of misery, I tried to be an orderly person; it was difficult, but I tried."
"And how did it end?"
"Prosaically. I was giving lessons in a certain house. There were two children, a little son and a grown-up daughter. I taught the son and fell in love with the daughter. I told her this one evening, and tears came to my eyes. She was confused a little, and then she laughed. Thou wilt not believe, Yosef, what an ugly laugh that was, for she saw how much the confession had cost me, and besides she had enticed me on, to begin with. She went at once with a complaint to her 'mamma.'"
"Well, what did the mamma do?"
"The 'mamma' told me first that I was a scrub, whereupon I bowed to her; second she told me to go my way, and third she threw a five-ruble note on the floor before me. I picked up the note, for it belonged to me, and from it I got drunk that evening and next morning also."
"And then?"
"Then the next evening and the third morning."
"And so on?"
"No. On the fourth day I had an immense cry, and later, when I had cured myself a little, not of drinking, but of love, I tried to fall in love with the first woman I met; but I could not love any more, I give thee my word of honor."
"And hast thou no hope for the future?"
Augustinovich thought a moment, and answered, —
"No, I have no respect now for women. As much as I believed in them before, as much as I honored and loved them as the highest reward of toil and effort, that much do I like them now, dost understand? That excludes love."
"But happiness."
"Not a word about happiness. So to-day I whistle when I want to cry, and therefore envy thee."
Yosef looked quickly at Augustinovich.
"What dost thou envy me?"
"Thy relation with Pani Helena. Do not frown, and do not wonder that I know those things well. Ho, ho! we have had a little experience. For that matter I will tell thee that I wanted myself to fall in love with Pani Helena. I prefer such women. Though, on the other hand – But do I know that thou wilt not be angry?"
"Talk on."
"I was afraid to fall in love with her. There is no denying that she is an unhappy woman, but, by the beard of the Prophet! what is that to me? I know only that the inheritance goes from hand to hand, and that whoso approaches her is happy for the ages. B-r-r! By my honor I should not wish to be the heir to such a legacy, even for a friend."
Yosef put the glass of partly drunk tea on the table, and turning to Augustinovich said coldly, —
"Yes; but since I am the executor of the will, be so kind as to speak of the inheritance more considerately."
"Well, I will tell thee in perfect seriousness not this, who or what the widow is, but what thou shouldst do. I speak disinterestedly. I speak even to my own harm. The affair is of this kind." Augustinovich sat up in bed. "I know thee, I know her; she will rush into thy arms herself. Initiative on the part of a woman – Ho! that is not good! Love must be a conquest. In a month thou wilt be sick of her, thou wilt be tortured and throw her to the devil. Yosef, I wish thee well – marry Helena while there is time."
Yosef frowned more than before, and answered abruptly, —
"I will do what I think is proper."
And really that little word "marry" had not come to his head yet. While kissing the widow's hands he had not thought of the consequences of the kisses. He was angry at himself, and at this more especially, that some one had reminded him of duties of conscience. A day later, two days later, he would have reminded himself of them beyond fail. The reminder coming from another took away from this thought the charm of spontaneous action which flows from love and made it constraint.
The evening of that day Augustinovich met Vasilkevich.
"Knowest thou that Yosef visits the widow now?" asked he.
"What wonder?"
"The woman is in love with him to distraction. Think what will come of that, and judge what Yosef ought to do."
"He ought to love her too," answered Vasilkevich, with his usual decision.
"Yes; and then?"
"Then let them marry."
Augustinovich waved his hand impatiently.
"One other question. How wouldst thou act with Pani Helena?"
"If I loved her?"
"Yes."
"I should marry her without hesitation."
Augustinovich stopped him, and with his hand on his heart began to speak in a tone of deep conviction, —
"Seest thou, I am much indebted to Yosef, for that matter thou knowest this best of all, I should like then to pay him honestly, – yes, to pay him with advice. He is in a strange position, and still, dost understand, there are certain laws of honor which we are not permitted to break. I should not wish that any man at any time could say to Yosef, 'Thou hast acted dishonorably.' I say openly I should not wish that. Thou canst do much, thou hast influence over him."
Vasilkevich, instead of letting himself be persuaded, grew angry.
"But why push into affairs which are not thine? Leave him freedom. It is only a little while since he began to visit her. Ei! Augustinovich, does this come from thy heart? If Helena is anything to thee, then may I – But this is interfering – thou lovest to pose and speak well-sounding words. Play no comedy! Thou art making a sacrifice as it were by losing lodgings through Yosef's marriage, but that is mere levity. Thou art deceiving thyself without knowing it. Have no fear as to Yosef; if thou wert like him, no more would be needed. What hast thou to do with this matter? Thou hast not tact to the value of a copper."
"Keep these lessons for thy own use! Then thou wilt not interfere between them?"
"If this undefined relation were to last long, I should be the first to try and persuade, and finally to force Yosef to marry her; but to interfere to-day would be stupid."
Augustinovich went home, greatly confused; a feeling of truth told him, however, that the Lithuanian was right, and that on his part it would be really meddling and a desire for posing, nothing more.
