Генрик Сенкевич
Whirlpools
Here she began to look off with dreamy eyes and afterwards continued:
"I remember also that whenever we discussed Boecklin's pictures, those fauns, nymphs, and dryads which he painted, I always regretted that all that did not exist in reality. And sometimes it seemed to me that they might exist, only we do not see them. For, in truth, who knows what happens in the woods at noontime or night time, when no one is there; or in the mists during the moonlight or upon the ponds? Belief in such a world is not wholly childish, since we believe in angels."
"I also believe in fairies, nymphs, dryads, and angels," answered Gronski.
"Really?" she asked, "for you always speak to me as to a child."
And he answered her only mentally:
"I speak as with a child, but I idolize."
But further conversation was interrupted by the servant, who informed Ladislaus that the steward of Rzeslewo had arrived and desired to see the "bright young lord" on a very important matter. Krzycki apologized to the company and with the expression, customary with country husbandmen, "What is up now?" left the room. As the supper was almost finished, they all began to move, after the example of the lady of the house, who, however, for a while endeavored in vain to rise, for the rheumatism during the past two days afflicted her more and more. Similar attacks occurred often and in such cases her son usually conducted her from room to room. But in this instance Miss Anney, who sat nearest to her, came to her assistance and, taking her in her arms, lifted her easily, skillfully, and without any exertion.
"I thank you, I thank you," said Pani Krzycki, "for otherwise I would have to wait for Laudie. Ah, my God, how good it is to be strong!"
"Oh, in me you have a veritable Samson," answered Miss Anney in her pleasant, subdued voice.
But at that moment Ladislaus, who evidently recalled that he had to escort his mother, rushed into the room and, seeing what was taking place, exclaimed:
"Permit me, Miss Anney. That is my duty. You will fatigue yourself."
"Not the least."
"Ah, Laudie," said Pani Krzycki, "to tell the truth, I do not know which one of you two is the stronger."
"Is it truly so?" he asked, looking with rapt eyes upon the slender form of the girl.
And she began to wink with her eyes in token that such was the fact, but at the same time blushed as if ashamed of her unwomanly strength.
Ladislaus, however, assisted her to seat his mother at the table in the small salon, at which she was accustomed to amuse herself in the evenings by laying out cards to forecast fortunes. On this occasion he unintentionally brushed his shoulder against Miss Anney's shoulder and, when he felt those steel-like young muscles, a violent thrill suddenly penetrated through him and at the same time he was possessed by a perception of some elementary, unheard-of, blissful power. If he were Gronski and ever in his life had read Lucretius' hymn to Venus, he would have been able to know and name that power. But as he was only a twenty-seven-year-old, healthy nobleman, he only thought that the moments in which he would be free to hug such a girl to his bosom would be worth the sacrifice of Jastrzeb, Rzeslewo, and even life.
But in the meanwhile he had to return to the steward of Rzeslewo, who waited for him in the office upon an urgent matter. Their talk lasted so long that when Ladislaus reappeared in the small salon, the young ladies had already withdrawn to their rooms. Only his mother, who was purposely waiting, desirous of knowing what was the matter, remained, with Gronski and with Dolhanski, who was playing baccarat with himself.
"What is the news?" asked Pani Krzycki.
"Absolutely nothing good. Only let Mamma not get alarmed, for we are of course here in Jastrzeb and not in Rzeslewo; and eventually we can brush this aside with our hands. But nevertheless, strange things are occurring there and Kapuscinski, in any event, did right to come here."
"For the Lord's sake, who is Kapuscinski?" exclaimed Dolhanski, dropping the monocle from his eye.
"The steward of Rzeslewo. He says that some unknown persons, probably from Warsaw, appeared there and are acting like gray geese in the skies. They issue commands, summon the peasants, incite them, promising them the lands and even order them to take possession of the stock. They predict it will be the same in all Poland as it is in Rzeslewo-"
"And what of the peasants? what of the peasants?" interrupted Pani Krzycki.
"Some believe them, while others do not. The more sensible, who attempt to resist, are threatened with death. The manor farm-hands will not obey Kapuscinski and say that they will only pasture and feed the cattle, but will not touch any other work. About fifteen of the tenants are preparing to go to the woods with hatchets and they declare that, if the foresters interfere with their right to cut wood, they will give them a good drubbing. Kapuscinski has lost his head completely and came to me, as one of the executors of the will, for advice."
"And what did you tell him?"
"As he declared to me that he was not certain of his life in Rzeslewo, I advised him by all means to pass the night with us in Jastrzeb. I wanted first to consult Mother and you, for in fact, advice under the circumstances is difficult to give and the situation is grave. Of course such a situation cannot continue very long, and sooner or later the peasants themselves will suffer the most by it. This we must positively prevent. I will candidly state that for the past two days, I have been considering whether it would not be better if I renounced the curatorship of the new school and Rzeslewo matters in general. I hesitated only because it is a public service, but in truth, I have so much work to attend to here in Jastrzeb, that I do not know on what I shall lay my hands first. But now, since it is necessary to rescue the peasants, and since a certain amount of danger is connected with it, I cannot retreat."
"I will fear about you, but I understand you," said Pani Krzycki.
"I think that by all means, I should drive over to-morrow morning to Rzeslewo, but if I do not secure a hearing there, then what is to be done?"
"You will not get any," said Dolhanski, not pausing in his distribution of the cards.
"If you go, I will go with you," announced Pani Krzycki.
"Ah, that would be the only thing needful! Let Mamma only think that in such a case I would be terribly hampered and certainly would not gain anything."
After which he kissed her hand and said:
"No, no! Mamma does not understand that matters would be worse and, if Mamma insists, then I would rather not go at all."
Gronski propped his head upon his hand and thought that it was easier to analyze at a desk the various phases of life than to offer sound advice in the presence of urgent events. Dolhanski at last stopped playing baccarat with himself and said:
"The position we are placed in passes all comprehension. But were we in any other country, the police would be summoned and the matter would end in a day."
To this Ladislaus replied with some anger:
"As for that, permit me! I will not summon the police; not only not against those peasants, but not even against those forbidden figures who now haunt Rzeslewo. No, never!"
"Very well; long live an epoch of true freedom!"
"Who knows," said Gronski, "but that the summoning of the police would just suit these gentlemen?"
"In what way?"
"Because they themselves, at the proper season, would disappear, but later would incite the people again and would cry all over Poland, 'Behold! who appeals to the police against peasants.'"
"That is a pertinent observation," said Ladislaus; "now I understand various things which I did not comprehend before."
"From the opening of the will," said Dolhanski, "Rzeslewo and its inhabitants did not concern me in the least. However, one thought occurred to me while dealing the cards. Laudie will drive over to Rzeslewo to-morrow on a fruitless errand. He may receive only a sound beating, without benefiting anybody-"
"It has never yet come to that, and that is something I do not fear. Our family has lived in Jastrzeb from time immemorial, and the peasants of this neighborhood would not raise their hands against a Krzycki-"
"Above all, do not interrupt me," said Dolhanski. "If you do not get a sound thrashing-and I assume that you may not-then you will not secure a hearing, as you yourself foresaw a little while ago. If we two, that is, Gronski and myself, went over there, we would not effect anything because they have seen us at the funeral, and the estimable Slavonians of Rzeslewo look upon us as men who have a personal interest in the matter. It will be necessary that some one unknown go there, who will not argue, but who will act as if he had the right and power and will command the peasants to behave peaceably. Since you are so much concerned about them, that will be the only way. So, then, since by virtue of the unfathomable decrees of Providence there exist in this beloved land of ours National Democrats, whom, parenthetically speaking, I cannot endure any more than the seven-spot of clubs, but who, in all probability, have fists as sweaty and as heavy as the socialists, – could you not settle this matter with their assistance?"
"Of course, naturally, naturally!" exclaimed Gronski; "the peasants, after all, have great confidence in the National party."
"I also belong to that party with my whole heart," said Krzycki, "but, sitting, like a stone, in Jastrzeb, I do not know to whom to apply."
"In any case, not to me," said Dolhanski.
But Gronski, though he did not belong to any faction, thoroughly knew the city and easily suggested the addresses and the manner in which the party could be notified. He afterwards said:
"And now I will give you one word of advice, the same which you, Laudie, gave Kapuscinski, namely, that we go to sleep, for you, especially, madam," – here he addressed the lady of the house-"were entitled to that long ago. Is it agreed?"
"Agreed," answered Ladislaus; "but wait a few minutes. After conducting Mother, I will accompany you upstairs."
Within a quarter of an hour he returned, but instead of bidding his guests the promised "good-night" he drew closer to them and resumed the interrupted conversation.
"I did not wish to relate everything before Mother," he said, "in order not to alarm her. But in fact the matter is much worse. So, speaking first of what concerns us, imagine for yourself that those strangers immediately after their arrival asked first of all about Laskowicz, and that Laskowicz was in Rzeslewo this afternoon and returned here an hour before we came back from the hunt. Now it is positively certain that we have in our midst an agitator."
"Then throw him out," interrupted Dolhanski. "If I were in your place, I would have done that long ago, if only for the reason that he has eyes set closely to each other, like a baboon. In a man that indicates fanaticism and stupidity."
"Unquestionably I will be done with him to-morrow, and I would end with him even to-day, notwithstanding the late hour, were it not that I desire first to calm down and not create any foolish disturbance. I do not like this, and I would not advise those apostles to peer into Jastrzeb. As I live, I would not advise it."
"Have they any intention of paying you a visit?"
"Certainly. If not to me personally, then to my farmhands. They announced in Rzeslewo that they would cause an agrarian strike in the entire vicinity."
"Then my advice, to drive out one wedge with another, is the most feasible."
"Assuredly. I will adopt that course without delay."
"I know," said Gronski, "that they want to inaugurate agrarian strikes throughout the whole country. They will not succeed as the peasant element will repel their efforts. They, like most people from the cities, do not take into account the relation of man to the soil. Nevertheless, there will be considerable losses and the confusion will increase, and this is what they chiefly care for. Ah! Shakespeare's 'sun of foolery' not only shines in our land, but is in the zenith."
"If we are talking of that kind of a sun, we can, like a former king of Spain, say that it never sets in our possessions."
But Gronski spoke farther:
"Socialism-good! That, of course, is a thing more ancient than Menenius Agrippa. That river has flown for ages. At times, when covered by other ideas, it coursed underground, and later emerged into the broad daylight. At times it subsides, then swells and overflows. At present we have a flood, very menacing, which may submerge not only factories, cities, and countries, but even civilization. Above all, it threatens France, where comfort and money have displaced all other ideas. Socialism is the inevitable result of that. Capital wedded to demagogism cannot breed any other child; and if that child has the head of a monster and mole, so much the worse for the father. It demonstrates that superfluous wealth may be a national danger. But this is not strange. Privilege is an injustice against which men have fought for centuries. Formerly the princes, clergy, and nobility were vested with it. To-day nobody has any; money possesses all. In truth, Labor has stepped forth to combat with it."
"This begins to smell to me like an apology for socialism," observed Dolhanski.
"No. It is not an apology. For, above all things, viewing this matter from above, what is this new current but one more delusion in the human chase after happiness? For myself, I only contend that socialism has come, or rather, it has gathered strength, because it was bound to grow. I care only about its looks and whether it could not have a different face. And here my criticism begins. I do not deem socialism a sin in the socialists, but only that the idea in their school assumes the lineaments of an malignant idiot. I accuse our socialists of incredible stupidity; like that of the ants who wrangled with and bit the working ants, while the ant-eater was lying on the ant-hill and swallowing them by thousands."
"True," cried Ladislaus.
"And, of course," concluded Gronski, "on our ant-hills there lie a whole herd of ant-eaters."
Here Dolhanski again dropped the monocle from his eye.
"That you may not retire to sleep under a disagreeable impression," he said, "I will tell you an anecdote which will illustrate what Gronski has said. During the last exposition in Paris, one of the black kings of French Congo, having heard of it, announced his wish to see it. The Colonial government, which was anxious to send as many exotic figures as possible to Paris, not only consented, but sent to this monarch a few shirts with the information that in France such articles of attire were indispensable. Naturally the shirts excited general admiration and surprise. The King summoned ministers, priests, and leaders of parties for a consultation as to how such a machine was to be put on. After long debates, which undoubtedly could not be held without bitter clashes between the native rationalists and the native nationalists and progressionists, all doubts were finally set at rest. The king pulled the sleeves of the shirt over his legs, so that the cuffs were at his ankles. The bottom edge of the shirt, which in this instance became the top, was fastened under his arm-pits by a string in such a manner that the bosom was on his back and the opening was at his neck-somewhat lower. Delighted with this solution of the difficulty, the ruler acknowledged that the attire, if not entirely, was, at least in certain respects, very practical and, above all, extraordinarily striking."
"Good," said Gronski, laughing, "but what connection has that with what I had previously said?"
"Greater than may appear to you," replied Dolhanski; "for the fact is that the various Slavonians are prepared to bear liberty and the socialists socialism in the same manner as that negro king wore his European shirt."
Saying this, he replaced the monocle in his eye and announced that as in virtuous Jastrzeb and in such company there could not be any talk of a "night card party," he would take his leave and go to sleep. The others decided to follow his example. Ladislaus took the lamp and began to light the way for the guests. On the stairs he turned to them with a countenance which depicted ill humor and said:
"May the deuce take it, but all these disturbances must occur at a time when we have in Jastrzeb such lovely ladies."
"Beware," answered Dolkanski, "and know that nothing can be concealed from my eyes. When you assisted Miss Anney to conduct your mother, you looked like an electrical machine. If anybody drew a wire through you, you could illuminate not only the mansion but the adjoining out-buildings."
Ladislaus raised the lamp higher so that the light would not fall upon his countenance, for he felt at that moment that he blushed like a student.
IX
Ladislaus Krzycki possessed such a happy nature that, having once lain down to sleep, he could a few minutes later fall into a deep slumber which would continue until the morning. That night, however, he could not fall asleep because the impressions of the day, together with the parting words of Dolhanski, had led him into a state of exasperation and anger. He was angry at Rzeslewo; at the disturbances which were taking place there; at Dolhanski because he had observed the impression which the young girl had made upon him-and particularly because he himself had afforded him an opportunity to comment upon it-and finally at the innocent Miss Anney. After a time, rolling from side to side, he opened an imaginary conversation with her, in which he assumed the rôle of a man, who, indeed, does not deny that he is deeply under the spell, nevertheless, can view matters soberly and sanely. Therefore he admitted to Miss Anney that she was handsome and amiable; that she had an immensely sympathetic voice, a strange, fascinating look, and a body like marble-ah, what a body! Nevertheless, he made the explicit reservation that she must not think that he loved her to distraction, or was even smitten with her. He would concede anything to her that she desired, but to admit that he was in love with her was as far removed from his thoughts as love is from matrimony, of which, of course, there could not be any talk. Above all, she was a foreigner, and Mother in that respect had her prejudices, justly so; and he himself would prefer to have at his side during the remainder of his life a Polish soul and not a foreign one. True, there was something homelike in her, but after all, she was not a Pole. "Identical blood has its own meaning; it cannot be helped," he further told Miss Anney. "So, since you are an Englishwoman, marry some Englishman or Scotchman, provided, however, you do not require me to form the acquaintance of such an ape and become intimate with him, for that is something I can dispense with perfectly." And at that moment he was seized with such a sudden, unexpected antipathy to that eventual Englishman "with projecting jaw" and Scotchman "with bare knees," that he felt that upon a trivial misunderstanding he could flog them. But through this attack of rage he roused himself completely from that half-drowsy, half-wakeful condition in which whimsical fancies mingle, and having recovered his senses, he experienced a great relief in the thought that the betrothed person beyond the sea was only a figment of his imagination, and at the same time a wave of gratitude towards Miss Anney surged in his heart. "Here I am, quarrelling with her and making reservations," he thought, "while she is snugly nestling her bright head upon a pillow and peacefully slumbering." Here again his blood began to frisk, but soon the perverse musings vanished. This became easier for him, as he was encompassed by a yearning for honest affection and for that future being, yet unnamed, who was to share his life. Again he resumed his imaginary conversation with Miss Anney, but this time in a meek spirit. He assured her, with a certain melancholy, that he was not solicitous about her, as he well knew that even if there were no obstacles she certainly would not have him, but that he was anxious that his future life-companion should resemble her a little; that she should have the same look and the same magnetic strength to which, if he did not succumb it would be a miracle. As to Miss Anney personally, plainly speaking, he owed only gratitude. Of course, nowhere was it so well with him as at his beloved Jastrzeb, but nevertheless he could not deny that in that exclusive den it became lively and bright after her arrival; and that after her departure it would become darker, more dreary and monotonous than ever before. So for those bright moments he would willingly kiss her hand and, if that seemed insufficient to her, then her feet. In the meantime he begged her pardon for the mad thoughts which passed through his brain when he brushed against her shoulder in the salon, for though he was always of the opinion that responsiveness upon her part was worth the sacrifice of life, yet at the same time he had to contend that Dolhanski was a blockhead and cynic who meddled with matters which did not concern him and who was unworthy of notice. Here renewed rage against Dolhanski possessed him, and he continued for some time to toss from side to side until finally the late hour, youth, hungry for sleep, and weariness sprinkled his eyes with poppy.3
There was, however, in the Jastrzeb manor-house another who did not sleep and who talked with a person not present, and that was Laskowicz. After all that had taken place and what had been revealed in the past few days, he was prepared for his farewell parting with the Krzycki family, as he well knew that his further presence in Jastrzeb would be intolerable. And nevertheless he desired at present to stay in it, even though for a few days, in order that he might gaze longer upon Panna Marynia and, as he called it, "further narcotize himself." Somehow, from the first moment he had heard her play, she actually absorbed his thoughts in a way that no woman up to that time had done. Foremost among the prepared formulæ which he, with dogmatic faith, had adopted to judge mankind with, was the precept that a woman belonging to the so-called pampered class was a thoughtless creature. In the meantime he had to dissent at once from that formula as a soul had spoken to him through the violin. Later he was astonished to find in that young lady two entities, one of which manifested itself in music as a finished artist, concentrated, filled with exaltation within herself, dissolved in the waves of tones and playing as if she drew the bow over her own nerves; the other appeared in every-day life in her customary relations with people. The latter seemed at the first glance of the eye, if not an insignificant, a common girl, full of simplicity and even gaiety, who screamed like a cat when Dolhanski, for instance, said things disagreeable to her; who jested with Gronski, telling him absurdities about spirits or, to the great alarm of Gronski and her older sister, fled into the garden for a boat ride on the pond. Laskowicz did not fully comprehend the world and was not a subtle person; nevertheless, he observed in the "common girl" something which made her, as it were, a little divinity, haloed with a quiet worship. Evidently she herself did not appear to be conscious of this and, viewing such a state of affairs as something which was self-understood, she lived the life of a flower or a bird. Confident that she will not suffer any harm from any one, gentle, bright, living beyond the misery and wretchedness of life, beyond its cares, beyond its chilling winds which dim the eyes with tears, beyond the dust which defiles, she resembled a pure spring which people look upon as blessed and whose translucency they fear to muddy. It seemed that the environment did not exact of her anything more than that she should exist, just as nothing more is demanded of a masterpiece.
To Laskowicz, as often as he gazed at her, there came recollection of his childhood days. He and his older brother, who, a few years before falling into consumption had committed suicide on the Riviera, were the sons of a woman who conducted near one of the churches in Warsaw a shop for the sale of consecrated wax candles, medals, rosaries, and pictures. Owing to this, both brothers were, in a way, bred upon the church portals and were in constant relations with the priests. Once it happened that the aged canon, the rector of the church, bought at an auction an alabaster statuette of some saint, and for an unknown reason took it for granted that it was not only the work, but the masterpiece of Canova. The statuette, which, in reality, was pretty and finely executed, after consecration, was placed in a separate niche near one of the altars under the name of Saint Apollonia and from that time the gentle old rector surrounded it with great worship as a holy relic and with more particular care as the greatest church rarity. He led his guests and more pious parishioners before it and commanded them to admire the work and got angry if any one ventured to make any critical observation. In fact, the admiration of the canon was shared by the organist, the sexton, the church servants, and both boys. The thought that Panna Marynia amidst her environment was such a Saint Apollonia unwittingly suggested itself to Laskowicz. For that reason, after the first impression he called her "a saintly doll." But he also recalled that when in the course of time he lost his faith-and he lost it in the gymnasium where, speaking parenthetically, he completed his studies with the aid of the venerable canon-he often was beset with a desire to demolish that alabaster statuette. At present he was consumed with a greater desire, for it bordered upon a passion, to destroy this living one. And yet he did not in the least bear her any hatred. On the contrary, he could not resist the charm of this maiden, so loved by all, any more than one can resist the charm of dawn or spring. It even happened that what vexed and exasperated him also at the same time attracted him towards her with an uncontrollable force. Consequently he was drawn to her by her appurtenance to this world, the existence of which he deemed a social injustice, crime, and wrong; she attracted him in spite of his internal anguish, and even by the thought that beside such a flower the proletariat was but manure. A lure for him was her refined culture and her art, though he regarded such things as superfluous and unnecessary for people of deflorated life; the fascination was her utter dissimilarity to the women whom he met up to the time of his arrival at the village, and her whole form was an intoxication. Never before was he under the same roof with a being like her; therefore he forgot himself and lost his head at the sight of her, and though he had not yet familiarized himself with the power which began to play in his bosom and had not christened it with the name of love, the truth was that during the past few days he was aflame like a volcano and loved her to distraction. He vaguely felt, however, that in this passion there was something of the lust of a negro for a white woman, and what was more, that in that particular love there was apostasy to principles. So then in the same germ he poisoned her with the virus of hatred and the wolfish propensity of annihilation.
And now he was summoning this "saintly doll" to come to him. Accepting, indiscriminately, and also with all that exaggeration peculiar to fanaticism and youth, everything which the books published as the results of the latest researches or phenomena in the domain of science, he believed that hypnotism was a secret and gigantic power which, when applied, would become invincible. Holding himself on the strength of experiments tried among his classmates as a hypnotizer, and considering the delicate and impressionable young girl an excellent medium, he was most firmly convinced that he could put her to sleep and command her from a distance. Conscience, indeed, whispered to him that what he contemplated doing was an abuse of science, but he silenced that voice, persuading himself that it would at the same time be a triumph of a proletaire over this world, for which it is not permissible to have any pity, and that a man belonging to the camp which had declared a war of life and death on the entire social structure and "had appraised at their true worth" all current ideas has the right to and must be heedless.
Above all, however, he yearned to subjugate this elegant and immaculate maiden, to dominate not merely her body and soul, but also her will; to transform her into something like himself; to draw her to himself, to awaken within her the slumbering feminine instincts, to open before her the closed doors of passion; to inflame her, to embrace her, to toy with her, and afterwards keep her forever close to his bosom. And at that thought he was beset by a strange joy like that which madmen feel while profaning objects held in reverence and fear, and, simultaneously, lust and love within him intensified. He felt that after all that and for all of that, he would love this booty of his, this sacrifice, to distraction.
But as he was a madman only about the heart of a maid, and not a depraved man, he was at times possessed by a tenderness so great that if his summons were productive of any results he might not pass the bounds of transgression. But these were transient moments; after which, straining the whole strength of his will and the sight of his closely set eyes in the direction of Marynia's sleeping chamber he said and commanded: "Rise! – do not light the candles-do not awaken your sister-open the door quietly and walk in darkness on the path of my thoughts until you come to me, to my arms, to my bosom!" And he imagined that at any moment he would behold her, resembling that alabaster statuette, entering with the mechanical step of a somnambulist in a single gown, silvery, dreamy, with head tilted backward, with closed eyes and opened lips drinking the lustre of the moon which shone in the windows. Afterwards he listened in the silence and, concentrating yet more powerfully his will, he repeated again with emphasis as if each word was chiselled out of stone: "Rise! do not light the candles-do not waken your sister-open the door-go on the path of my thoughts-and come!"
