Генрик Сенкевич
Whirlpools
At this Dolhanski turned to Ladislaus.
"Thank Gronski," he said, "for the disinfection started with you; from which the plain inference is to be drawn that you are a more harmful microbe than I am."
"Get married, get married," answered Ladislaus banteringly; "for you, a good marriage settlement would be the best cure for pessimism."
"That may be possible, as in that case, I may have something with which I can leave this dear country and settle elsewhere. I once told you that Providence speaks through the lips of little innocents. But I should have thought of marriage when in the perspective there were no Goreks, but instead, four million franks."
"Did you have such an opportunity?"
"As you see me here. It happened in Ostend; an old Belgian relict of a manufacturer of preserves, and having cash to the amount specified, wanted to marry me and that for the waiting."
"And what?"
"And nothing. I remember what Pan Birkowski, who at that time was in Ostend, told me. 'Do business,' he said. 'At the worst, you may leave the old woman two millions and leave her in the lurch, and you can take two millions with you and enjoy yourself like a king.'"
"And what did you say to that?"
"And I said this to that: What is that? Am I to give from my own hard-earned money two millions to an ugly old woman? For nothing! And now I think that for a mere quibble, I permitted a fortune to slip away from me and that the time may come when owing to a 'retirement from business' I will have to sacrifice myself for a smaller price."
Gronski and Ladislaus began to laugh, but Dolhanski, who spoke with greater bitterness than they supposed, shrugged his shoulders and said:
"Amuse yourselves, amuse yourselves. One of you already has received a taste of the times and the other, God grant, will not escape so easily. Nice times, indeed! Chaos, anarchy, political orgy, lack of any kind of authority, the dance of dynamite with the knout, and the downfall of 'bridge.' And you laugh!"
V
Nevertheless that which Dolhanski said about a want of any kind of authority appeared to be not exactly the truth, for, after an interval of one week, the authorities did give signs of life.
An imposing armed force, together with gendarmes and police, made its appearance.
Of course the perpetrators of the attempt upon Krzycki did not wait a whole week for the arrival at Jastrzeb of a military relief, as they evidently had engagements in other parts of the county. As a result the Jastrzeb, as well as the Rzeslewo, forests appeared to be deserted.
In lieu of this, about a score of men in Jastrzeb, itself, were placed under arrest. Among these were the two forest rangers, the old coachman who was wounded at the time of the attack, and all the workingmen at the sawmill.
In the manor-house all the passports were verified with exceeding care, reports were written, and the host, hostess, and guests, not excluding the ladies, were subjected to a strict examination.
From these examinations it developed that in reality they did not come on account of the attempt upon the proprietor of Jastrzeb, but for the purpose of apprehending a dangerous revolutionist, a certain Laskowicz, who, according to the most reliable information secured by the police, was hiding in Jastrzeb and was shielded by its denizens.
The declaration of the Krzyckis to the police, that in due season the passport of Laskowicz was forwarded, and if Laskowicz had left the city he must have received it, as well as the assurances of all present that Laskowicz was not in Jastrzeb did not find any credence.
The authorities were too experienced and shrewd to believe such nonsense and they detected in them "an evil design, and want of sincerity and cordial candor."
The house also was subjected to a most painstaking search, beginning in the garret and ending in the cellar. They knocked on the walls to ascertain whether there were any secret hiding places. They searched among the dresses and linen of the women; in the hearth, under the divans, in the drawers, in the boxes for phenicine pastilles, which Gronski brought with him; and finally in the manor outbuildings, in the mangers of the stable, in the milk churners, in the tar-boxes, and even in the beehives, whose inmates, undoubtedly being permeated with the evil-disposition prevalent in Jastrzeb, resisted the search in a manner as evil disposed as it was painful.
But as the search, notwithstanding its thoroughness and the intelligence with which it was conducted, was not productive of any results, they took a hundred and some tens of books, the farm register, the entire private correspondence of the hosts as well as the guests, the bone counters used in playing cards, a little bell with a Napoleonic figure, a safety razor, a barometer, and, notwithstanding the license which Krzycki possessed, all the fowling pieces, not excepting a toy-gun with which corks were shot and which belonged to little Stas.
Ladislaus himself would have been undoubtedly arrested as an accomplice, if the doctor, who treated the captain for his heart trouble, had not arrived and if Dolhanski, growing impatient beyond all endurance, had not shown the captain a message before sending it to the city. It was addressed to the highly influential general W., with whom Dolhanski played whist at the club, and it complained of the brutality and the arbitrariness of the search.
This to a considerable extent cooled off the ardor of the captain and his subordinates, who previously, at the scrutiny of the passports, had learned that Dolhanski was a member of the club.
In this manner Ladislaus preserved his liberty, supplemented by police surveillance, and little Stas regained his toy-gun for shooting corks. The captain could not return the arms as he had peremptory orders in black and white to confiscate even the ancient fowling-pieces of the whole community.
"Doux pays! Doux pays!" cried Dolhanski after the departure of the police. "Revolvers now can be found only in the hands of the bandits. In view of this I will submit to a demission as the commander-in-chief of the Jastrzeb armed forces, land as well as naval. We are now dependent upon the kindness or unkindness of fate."
"Go to Warsaw, ladies and gentlemen, to-morrow," said the doctor; "here there is no joking."
"Let us go to Warsaw," repeated Dolhanski, "and, not losing any time, enroll in the ranks of the believers in expropriation. I regard social revolutionists as the only insurance association in this country which does really insure."
"From accidents," added Krzycki; "and we shall insure with my personal friend and 'accomplice' Laskowicz."
To this Dolhanski replied:
"That accomplice gave you a payment on account. In the future you will receive yet more."
To Gronski's mind came thoughts of the personal enmity of the young medical student to Krzycki and the letter of Laskowicz to Marynia, of which he among the men in Jastrzeb alone knew.
It was quite probable that Laskowicz saw in Ladislaus a rival and future aspirant for the hand of Panna Marynia who, besides, had nipped in the bud his work in Rzeslewo and that he might have thought that he actually could gratify his hatred from personal consideration, and in the name of the "cause."
Laskowicz, himself, in his own way, might have been an honest man, but the party ethics were, in relation to the antiquated morality, revolutionary, and sanctioned such things.
But at present there was not much time to ponder over that; so after a while Gronski waved his hand and said:
"Whether or not the hand of Laskowicz is imbrued in this the future will show. Now we must think of something else. I assert positively that I will take away my ladies from here, but I wish that the entire Jastrzeb family would follow my example."
After which, he addressed the doctor.
"Would it be safe for Ladislaus to travel to-morrow?"
"He? Even as far as England," answered the doctor.
Gronski and Dolhanski laughed at these words but Ladislaus blushed like a student and said:
"It will be necessary to inform the ladies."
"And to-morrow the general exodus will take place," added Gronski.
And he went to the ladies, who received the news of the decision with evident relief. Both sisters decided to have Pani Krzycki at their residence in Warsaw, but she, desiring to be with her son, would not accept the invitation; and only consented when Gronski announced that he would take Ladislaus to his home and guaranteed that he should not suffer for want of care and comfort. Miss Anney, whose apartments were directly opposite to those of Pani Otocka also offered her rooms for the use of the younger members of the Krzycki family and their female teachers. In the meanwhile the doctor permitted Ladislaus to get up, so that he would not have to start on his journey directly from his bed. In the evening the entire company assembled on the garden veranda. There was missing only Dolhanski who rode off to Gorek, for he had decided to advise Pani Wlocek and Panna Kajetana to remove to the city likewise. Ladislaus, after a considerable loss of blood and a somewhat lengthy confinement in bed, looked pale and miserable, but his countenance had acquired a more subtile expression and actually become handsome. At the present time the ladies were occupied with him, as an invalid, with extraordinary watchfulness. He was a person who attracted general sympathy; therefore, though from time to time his eyes grew dim, he assured his mother that it was well with him, and he really was delighted to breathe the fresh evening air. At times he was overcome by a light drowsiness. Then he closed his eyelids and the conversation hushed, but when he opened them again he saw directed towards himself the eyes of his mother and, illuminated by the setting sun, the young faces of the ladies, which appeared to him simply angelic. He was surrounded by love and friendship; therefore it was well with him. His heart surged with feelings of gratitude, and at the same time with regret that those good Jastrzeb days would soon end. In his soul he cherished a hope that he would not be absent from Jastrzeb long, and promised himself a speedy return, and he promised this with all the strength with which a person craves happiness. Nevertheless, the times were so strange, so uncertain, and so many things might happen which it was impossible to foresee, that involuntarily a fear generated in his heart as to what turn the current of events would take; what the future of the country would be, and what, in a year or two, would become of Jastrzeb, which, indeed, became precious to him for it opened before him the portals, beyond which he beheld the great brightness of happiness. Love, as well as a bird, needs a nest. So Ladislaus plainly could not conceive of himself and the light-haired lady being anywhere else than at Jastrzeb. For this, his heart beat with redoubled force, when glancing at her, he indulged in fancies and imagined that perhaps after a year, or sooner, she will sit upon the same veranda, as the lady of the house and as his wife. Then he turned towards her and asked her with his soul and eyes: "Dost thou guess and perceive my thoughts?" But she, perhaps because she was restrained by the presence of so many witnesses, did not reply to his glances; sitting as if immersed in thought and letting her gaze follow the swallows, which flitted so nimbly above the trees of the garden and the pond. Ladislaus, when he now looked at her was impressed, as if with certain admiration, at the contrast between her full-grown form, powerful arms, and well developed bosom and her small, girlish face. But he saw in all this only a new charm and spell under whose powers there flew at times through his love a burning desire similar indeed to pain and stifling the breath in his breast.
In the meantime the sun sank measurably and began to bathe in the ruddy evening twilight. From the freshly mown lawns came a strong fragrance of the little hay heaps, which were warmed by the daily summer heat. Somehow the air with the approach of night became more bracing, for, from the alder-trees bordering on the pond, came from time to time a cool breath, so weak and light, however, that the leaves on the trees did not stir. The swallows described curves higher and higher above the reddened surface of the pond. In the lofty poplars with trimmed tops a stork clattered in his nest, now stooping with his head backward and then lowering it as if bowing to the setting sun or officiating at the evening vespers.
"I will play something as a farewell to Jastrzeb," Marynia suddenly announced.
"Ah, beloved creature!" said Gronski; "shall I go for the stand and notes?"
"No. I will play something from memory."
And saying this, she handed to Miss Anney an album with views of Jastrzeb, and hurried upstairs. In a short time she returned with her violin. For a time she kept it propped on her shoulder and raising her eyes upwards, considered what she should play. She selected Schumann's "Ich grolle nicht." The overflowing tones filled the quiet of the garden. They began to sing, muse, long, and weep; oscillate, hush, and slumber, and with them the human soul acted in unison. Sorrow became more melancholy, yearning more longing, and love more tender and deeply enamoured. And "the little divinity" continued playing-white in her muslin dress-calm, with pensive eyes lost somewhere in the illimitable distance, immaculate, and as if borne to heaven by music and her own playing. To Gronski it seemed that he had before him some kind of mystic lily, and he began in his soul to say to her, as it were, a litany, in which every word was a worship of the little violinist, because she was playing and she awoke in him a love as destitute of the slightest earthly dross as if she were not a maiden composed of blood and flesh, but in reality some kind of mystic lily.
Marynia had ceased to play and her hand, with the violin, hung at her side. No one thanked her; no one uttered a word, for the strains of that music lingered with all and, echo-like, it was yet playing within them. Pani Otocka unwittingly drew nearer to Gronski as if they were attracted towards each other by their mutual worship of this beloved child. In Pani Krzycki's eyes glittered tears, which under the spell of the music were contributed and provoked by memories of former years and the present suffering of her son and fresh worries about him, and the uncertainty of the future. Miss Anney sat in reverie, holding unknowingly between her knees the album, which during Marynia's playing had dropped from her hands; and through the open doors, in the already dimmed depths of the salon, could be seen the indistinct form of a woman, who evidently also was listening to the music.
A somewhat stronger breeze which blew from the alder-trees awoke all, as if from a half-dream. Then Pani Krzycki turned towards her son:
"A chill is coming from the pond. Perhaps you may wish to return to your room."
"No," he answered, "I feel better than I have felt for a long time."
And he began to assure her that he did not feel any chill and afterwards appealed to the doctor, who, lulled to sleep by the music, could not at once understand what was the matter.
"Can Laudie remain?" asked Pani Krzycki.
"He can, he can; only as soon as the sun disappears, it will be necessary to cover him better."
Afterwards the doctor looked at his watch and added:
"It is time for me to go, but I have had so few evenings like this that it is a hardship to leave. As God sees, it is a hardship."
And here he began to rub his fatigued brow with the palm of his hand. Pani Krzycki and Ladislaus declared that they would not permit him to leave before supper. The doctor again looked at his watch, but before he could make any reply there appeared upon the veranda the same feminine figure that had been listening to the music in the depths of the parlor, but this time with two plaids upon her arm.
"Is that you, Pauly?" said Miss Anney. "Ah, how sensible you are."
And Panna Pauly began to cover Ladislaus with the plaids. She placed one over his shoulders and the other around his limbs. In doing this she knelt and bent in such a way that for a moment her breast rested on Krzycki's knee.
"Thank you, little Miss, thank you," he said, somewhat confused.
She glanced quickly into his eyes and then left without a word.
"But I have taken your plaids," Ladislaus said addressing Miss Anney.
"That does not matter. I am dressed warmly. Only, you, sir, will have to take care that the wounded shoulder is well covered."
And approaching him, she began to push lightly and carefully a corner of the plaid between the back of the chair and his shoulder.
"I am not hurting you?" she asked.
"No, no. How can I thank you?"
And he looked at her with such enamoured eyes that for the first time it occurred to his mother that there might be something more than gratitude in this.
She glanced once or twice at Pani Zosia's delicate countenance, and sighed, and her heart was oppressed with fear, disquiet, and regret. This was her ideal for her son; this was her secret fancy. She, indeed, had fallen in love with her whole soul with the young Englishwoman, and if foreign blood did not course in her veins, she would not have had any objections, but nevertheless this first fleeting suspicion that the structure, which she, in her soul, had erected from the moment she became intimate with Zosia, might crumble, was to her immeasurably disagreeable. For a time she felt, as it were, a dislike for Miss Anney. She determined also from that moment to observe them both more carefully, and to speak with Gronski.
But in the further course of the evening her hopes revived, for when the company returned to the salon it seemed to her after a time that what she had seen on the veranda was an illusion. In fact that day did not end for Ladislaus and Miss Anney as serenely as the setting sun had augured. A cooler wind blew between them, and Pani Krzycki could not know that the reason for it, on the part of her boy, was jealousy. Miss Anney, after the return to the parlor, began, on the side, a conversation with the doctor which continued so long that Ladislaus became irritated. He observed that she spoke not only with animation, but also with a desire to please. He saw the brightened visage of the doctor, from which it was easy to read that the conversation afforded him sincere pleasure, and a serpent stung Ladislaus' heart. He could not overhear what Miss Anney was saying. It seemed to him only that she was urging something. On the other hand, the doctor could not speak so quietly, but to Krzycki's eavesdropping ears from time to time came such fragmentary expressions as "I intended to do that, only after a week"; "Ha!" "Some may object"; "If that is the case, very well"; "It is well known how England conquers"; "Good, good."
Ladislaus decided with all possible coolness to ask Miss Anney whom England had now subjugated and whether the newspapers had made any mention of it, but when Miss Anney and the doctor at the conclusion of their tête-à-tête had rejoined the rest of the company, he changed his plan and, with the offended dignity of a schoolboy who is ready not only to spite those dear to him but also himself, he determined to cover himself with the cloak of indifference. With this view he turned to Zosia and began to inquire about the Zalesin estate and begged her permission to inspect it; and she told him that it would give her great pleasure. He thanked her so warmly that his mother was led into an error. Miss Anney tried several times to participate in the conversation, but receiving from him indifferent replies, surprised and slightly touched, began to listen to what Gronski was saying.
After supper the doctor announced that he would have to leave. For a while he spoke with Gronski, and then took his leave of the ladies, repeating, "Until to-morrow; at the railway station." He advised Ladislaus to return immediately to his room and secure a good rest before proceeding on his journey. Gronski, after escorting the doctor to the gate, accompanied Ladislaus to his room, and when they found themselves alone, perceiving his mien and easily surmising the cause asked: "What ails you? You are so agreeable."
And Krzycki answered with some irritation: "I am still feeling weak; otherwise I am as usual."
But Gronski shrugged his shoulders.
"These," said he, "are the usual misunderstandings of lovers, but you, above all, are a child and caused her unpleasantness. And do you know what for? Simply because she urged Szremski to accompany you to Warsaw."
Ladislaus' heart quivered, but he put a good face on a bad matter and would not yet be reconciled.
"I do not feel at all weak and can get along without his assistance."
To this Gronski replied:
"Good-night to you and your logic."
And he left the room.
But Ladislaus when he was undressed and in bed, suddenly felt tears welling in his eyes and began with extraordinary tenderness to beg pardon of-the pillow.
