Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  He admitted, however, that if they had even a little tact they would receive him. He knew that he would see Marynia at Pani Emilia’s.

  Meditating in this way, he arrived at Salzburg. There was one hour till the arrival of the train from Monachium, by which he was to go to Vienna; hence he decided to walk about the town. That moment he saw in the restaurant the bright-colored pea-jacket of Bukatski, his monocle, and his small head, covered with a still smaller soft cap.

  “Bukatski or his spirit!” cried he.

  “Calm thyself, Pan Stanislav,” answered Bukatski, phlegmatically, greeting him as if they had parted an hour before. “How art thou?”

  “What art thou doing here?”

  “Eating a cutlet.”

  “To Reichenhall?”

  “Yes. But thou art homeward?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thou hast proposed to Pani Emilia?”

  “No.”

  “Then I forgive thee. Thou mayst go.”

  “Keep thy conceits for a fitter season. Litka is in very great danger.”

  Bukatski grew serious, and said, raising his brows,— “Ai, ai! Is that perfectly certain?”

  Pan Stanislav told briefly the opinion of the doctor. Bukatski listened for a while; then he said, —

  “And is a man not to be a pessimist in this case? Poor child and poor mother! In the event of misfortune, I cannot imagine in any way how she will endure it.”

  “She is very religious; but it is terrible to think of this.”

  “Let us walk through the town a little,” said Bukatski; “one might stifle here.”

  They went out.

  “And a man in such straits is not to be a pessimist!” exclaimed Bukatski. “What is Litka? Simply a dove! Every one would spare her; but death will not spare her.”

  Pan Stanislav was silent.

  “I know not myself now,” continued Bukatski, “whether to go to Reichenhall or not. In Warsaw, when Pani Emilia is there, even I can hold out. Once a month I propose to her, once a month I receive a refusal; and thus I live from the first of one month to the first of the next. The first of the month has just passed, and I am anxious for my pension. Is the mother aware of the little girl’s condition?”

  “No. The child is in danger; but perhaps a couple of years remain yet to her.”

  “Ah! perhaps no more remain to any of us. Tell me, dost thou think of death often?”

  “No. How would that help me? I know that I must lose the case; therefore I do not break my head over it, especially before the time.”

  “In this is the point, — we must lose, but still we keep up the trial to the end. This is the whole sense of life, which otherwise would be simply a dreary farce, but now it is a dull tragedy as well. As to me, I have three things at present to choose from: to hang myself, go to Reichenhall, or go to Monachium to see Boecklin’s pictures once more. If I were logical, I should choose the first; since I am not, I’ll choose Reichenhall. Pani Emilia is worth the Boecklins, both as to outline and color.”

  “What is to be heard in Warsaw?” asked on a sudden Pan Stanislav, who had had that question on his lips from the first of the conversation. “Hast thou seen Mashko?”

  “I have. He has bought Kremen, he is a great landholder, and, since he has wit, he is using all his power not to seem too great. He is polite, sensible, flattering, accessible; he is changed, not to my advantage, it is true, for what do I care? but surely to his own.”

  “Isn’t he going to marry Panna Plavitski?”

  “I hear that he wants to. Thy partner, Bigiel, said something of this, also that Mashko bought Kremen on conditions more than favorable. Thou wilt find clearer news in the city.”

  “Where are the Plavitskis at present?”

  “In Warsaw. They are living in the Hotel Rome. The young woman is not at all ugly. I called on them as a cousin, and talked about thee.”

  “Thou mightst have chosen a more agreeable subject for them.”

  “Plavitski, who is glad of what has happened, told me that thou hadst done them a service, without wishing it certainly, but thou hadst done it. I asked the young lady how it was that she saw thee in Kremen for the first time. She answered that during her visit in Warsaw thou must have been in foreign countries.”

  “In fact, I was gone then on business of the firm to Berlin, and I remained there some time.”

  “Indeed, I did not observe that they were offended at thee. I heard so much, however, of the young lady’s love of country life, that she must, I admit, be a little angry at thee for having taken Kremen from her. In every case, she does not show any anger.”

  “Perhaps she will show it only to me; and the opportunity will not be lacking, for I shall visit them immediately after my return.”

  “In that case do me one little service: marry the lady, for of two evils I prefer to be thy cousin rather than Mashko’s.”

  “Very well,” replied Pan Stanislav, curtly.

  CHAPTER IX.

  After his return to Warsaw, Pan Stanislav went first of all to Bigiel, who told him minutely the conditions on which Kremen was sold. Those conditions were very profitable for Mashko. He bound himself to pay at the end of a year thirty-five thousand rubles, which were to come from the parcelling of Magyerovka, and besides to pay three thousand yearly till the death of Pan Plavitski. To Pan Stanislav the bargain did not seem at first too unfavorable for Plavitski; but Bigiel was of another opinion.

  “I do not judge people too hastily,” said he; “but Plavitski is an incurable old egotist who has sacrificed the future of his child to his own comfort, and, besides, he is frivolous. In this case the annuity is placed as it were on Kremen; but Kremen, as a ruined estate, on which there is need to spend money, has a fictitious value. If Mashko puts it in order, very well; if not, in the most favorable event he will fall behind in payment, and Plavitski may not see a copper for years. What will he do then? He will take Kremen back. But before that time Mashko will contract new debts, even to pay the old ones; and, in case of his bankruptcy, God knows how many creditors will stretch their hands after Kremen. Finally, all depends on the honesty of Mashko, who may be a correct man, but he is carrying on business riskily; if he takes one false step, it may ruin him. Who knows if this very purchase of Kremen be not such a step? — for, wishing to bring the estate into order, he must draw on his credit to the utmost. I have seen men who succeeded a long time until they turned to buying great estates.”

  “The ready money for Magyerovka will remain with the Plavitskis always,” said Pan Stanislav, as if wishing to quiet his own fears for their future.

  “If old Plavitski does not eat it up, or play it away, or waste it.”

  “I must think of something. I caused the sale; I must help.”

  “Thou?” asked Bigiel, with astonishment. “I thought that thy relations were broken forever.”

  “I shall try to renew them. I will visit the Plavitskis to-morrow.”

  “I do not know that they will be glad to see thee.”

  “And I myself do not know.”

  “Dost wish I will go with thee? For it is a question of breaking the ice. They may not receive thee alone. It is a pity that my wife is not here. I sit by myself whole evenings and play on the violoncello. During the day I have time enough too; I can go with thee.”

  Pan Stanislav, however, refused, and next day he dressed himself with great care and went alone. He knew that he was a presentable man; and though usually he did not think much of this, he resolved now to omit nothing which might speak in his favor. On the way he had his head full of thoughts as to what he should say, what he should do in this case or that one, and he tried to foresee how they would receive him.

  “I will be as simple and outspoken as possible,” said he to himself; “that is the best method absolutely.”

  And, before he noted it, he found himself at the Hotel Rome. His heart began to beat then more quickly.

  “It would not be bad,” thought he, “if I sho
uld not find them at home. I could leave a card and see later on if Plavitski would acknowledge my visit.”

  But straightway he said to himself, “Don’t be a coward,” and went forward. Learning from the servant that Plavitski was at home, he sent in his card, and after a while was invited to enter.

  Plavitski was sitting at a table writing letters, drawing at intervals smoke from a pipe with a great amber mouthpiece. At sight of Pan Stanislav he raised his head, and, looking at him through gold-rimmed glasses, said, —

  “I beg, I beg!”

  “I learned from Bigiel that you and Panna Plavitski were in Warsaw,” said Pan Stanislav, “and I came to pay my respects.”

  “That was very pretty on thy part,” answered Plavitski, “and, to tell the truth, I did not expect it. We parted in a bitter manner and through thy fault. But since thou hast felt it thy duty to visit me, I, as the older, open my arms to thee a second time.”

  The opening of the arms, however, was confined to reaching across the table a hand, which Pan Stanislav pressed, saying in his own mind, —

  “May the Evil One take me, if I come here to thee, and if I feel toward thee any obligation!” After a while he asked, “You and your daughter are coming to live in Warsaw?”

  “Yes. I am an old man of the country, accustomed to rise with the sun and to work in the fields; it will be grievous for me in your Warsaw. But it was not right to imprison my child; hence I made one sacrifice more for her.”

  Pan Stanislav, who had spent two nights in Kremen, remembered that Plavitski rose about eleven in the forenoon, and that he labored specially about the business of Kremen, not its fields; he passed this, however, in silence, for he had a head occupied with something else at that moment. From the chamber which Plavitski occupied, an open door led to another, which must be Marynia’s. It occurred to Pan Stanislav, who was looking in the direction of that door from the time of his entrance, that perhaps she did not wish to come out; therefore he inquired, —

  “But shall I not have the pleasure of seeing Panna Marynia?”

  “Marynia has gone to look at lodgings which I found this morning. She will come directly, for they are only a couple of steps distant. Imagine to thyself a plaything, not lodgings. I shall have a cabinet and a sleeping-room; Marynia also a very nice little chamber, — the dining-room is a trifle dark, it is true; but the drawing-room is a candy-box.”

  Here Plavitski passed into a narrative concerning his lodgings, with the volubility of a child amused by something, or of an old lover of comfort, who smiles at every improvement. At last he said, —

  “I had barely looked around when I found myself at home. Dear Warsaw is my old friend; I know her well.”

  But at that moment some one entered the adjoining room.

  “That is Marynia, surely,” said Plavitski. “Marynia, art thou there?” called he.

  “I am,” answered a youthful voice.

  “Come here; we have a guest.”

  Marynia appeared in the door. At sight of Pan Stanislav, astonishment shone on her face. He, rising, bowed; and when she approached the table, he stretched out his hand in greeting. She gave him her own with as much coldness as politeness. Then she turned to her father, as if no one else were present in the room, —

  “I have seen the lodgings; they are neat and comfortable, but I am not sure that the street is not too noisy.”

  “All streets are noisy,” answered Plavitski. “Warsaw is not a village.”

  “Pardon me; I will go to remove my hat,” said Marynia. And, returning to her room, she did not appear for some time.

  “She will not show herself again,” thought Pan Stanislav.

  But evidently she was only arranging her hair before the mirror, after removing her hat; she entered a second time, and asked, —

  “Am I interrupting?”

  “No,” said Plavitski, “we have no business now, for which, speaking in parenthesis, I am very glad. Pan Polanyetski has come only through politeness.”

  Pan Stanislav blushed a little, and, wishing to change the subject, said, —

  “I am returning from Reichenhall; I bring you greetings from Pani Emilia and Litka, and that is one reason why I made bold to come.”

  For a moment the cool self-possession on Marynia’s face vanished.

  “Emilia wrote to me of Litka’s heart attack,” said she. “How is she now?”

  “There has not been a second attack.”

  “I expect another letter, and it may have come; but I have not received it, for Emilia addressed it very likely to Kremen.”

  “They will send it,” said Plavitski; “I gave directions to send all the mail here.”

  “You will not go back to the country, then?” asked Pan Stanislav.

  “No; we will not,” answered Marynia, whose eyes recovered their expression of cool self-possession.

  A moment of silence followed. Pan Stanislav looked at the young lady, and seemed to be struggling with himself. Her face attracted him with new power. He felt now more clearly that in such a person precisely he would find most to please him, that he could love such a one, that she is the type of his chosen woman, and all the more her coldness became unendurable. He would give now, God knows what, to find again in those features the expression which he saw in Kremen, the interest in his words, and the attention, the transparency in those eyes full of smiles and roused curiosity. He would give, God knows what, to have all this return, and he knew not by what method to make it return, by a slow or a quick one; for this cause he hesitated. He chose at last that which agreed best with his nature.

  “I knew,” said he, suddenly, “how you loved Kremen, and in spite of that, perhaps, it is I who caused its sale. If that be the case, I tell you openly that I regret the act acutely, and shall never cease to regret it. In my defence I cannot even say that I did it while excited, and without intent. Nay, I had an intent; only it was malicious and irrational. All the greater is my fault, and all the more do I entreat your forgiveness.”

  When he had said this, he rose. His cheeks were flushed, and from his eyes shone truth and sincerity; but his words remained without effect. Pan Stanislav went by a false road. He knew women in general too slightly to render account to himself of how far their judgments, especially their judgments touching men, are dependent on their feelings, both transient and permanent. In virtue of these feelings, anything may be taken as good or bad money; anything interpreted for evil or good, recognized as true or false; stupidity may be counted reason, reason stupidity, egotism devotion, devotion egotism, rudeness sincerity, sincerity lack of delicacy. The man who in a given moment rouses dislike, cannot be right with a woman, cannot be sincere, cannot be just, cannot be well-bred. So Marynia, feeling deep aversion and resentment toward Pan Stanislav from the time of Mashko’s coming to Kremen, took sincerity simply ill of him. Her first thought was: “What kind of man is this who recognizes as unreasonable and bad that which a few days ago he did with calculation?” Then Kremen, the sale of the place, Mashko’s visit and the meaning of that visit, which she divined, were for her like a wound festering more and more. And now it seemed to her that Pan Stanislav was opening that wound with all the unsparingness of a man of rough nature and rude nerves.

  He rose, and with eyes fixed on her face, waited to see if a friendly and forgiving hand would not be extended to him, with a clear feeling that one such stretching forth of a hand might decide his fate; but her eyes grew dark for a moment, as if from pain and anger, and her face became still colder.

  “Let not that annoy you,” said she, with icy politeness. “On the contrary, papa is very much satisfied with the bargain and with the whole arrangement with Pan Mashko.”

  She rose then, as if understanding that Pan Stanislav wished to take leave. He stood a moment stricken, disappointed, full of resentment and suppressed anger, full of that feeling of mortification which a man has when he is rejected.

  “If that is true, I desire nothing more.”

  �
��It is, it is! I did a good business,” concluded Plavitski.

  Pan Stanislav went out, and, descending a number of steps at a time with hat pressed down on his head, he repeated mentally, —

  “A foot of mine will not be in your house again.”

  He felt, however, that, if he were to go home, anger would stifle him; he walked on, therefore, not thinking whither his feet were bearing him. It seemed to him at that moment that he did not love Marynia, that he even hated her; but still he thought about her, and if he had thought more calmly he would have told himself that the mere sight of her had affected him deeply. He had seen her now a second time, had looked on her, had compared that image of her which he had borne in his memory with the reality; the image became thereby still more definite, more really attractive, and acted the more powerfully on him. And, in spite of the anger, in the depth of his soul an immense liking for her raised its head, and a delight in the woman. There existed, as it were, for him two Marynias, — one the mild, friendly Marynia of Kremen, listening and ready to love; the other that icy young lady of Warsaw, who had rejected him. A woman often becomes dual in this way in the heart of a man, which is then most frequently ready to forgive this unfriendly one for the sake of that loved one. Pan Stanislav did not even admit that Marynia could be such as she had shown herself that day; hence there was in his anger a certain surprise. Knowing his own undeniable worth, and being conceited enough, he carried within him a conviction, which he would not acknowledge to himself, that it was enough for him to extend his hand to have it seized. This time it turned out differently. That mild Marynia appeared suddenly, not only in the rôle of a judge, who utters sentences and condemns, but also in the rôle, as it were, of a queen, with whom it is possible to be in favor or disfavor. Pan Stanislav could not accustom himself to this thought, and he struggled with it; but such is human nature that, when he learned that for that lady he was not so much desired as he had thought, that she not only did not over-value him, but esteemed him lower than herself, in spite of his displeasure, offence, and anger, her value increased in his eyes. His self-love was wounded; but, on the other hand, his will, in reality strong, was ready to rush to the struggle with difficulties, and crush them. All these thoughts were circling chaotically in his head, or, instead of thoughts, they were rather feelings torn and tearing themselves. He repeated a hundred times to himself that he would drop the whole matter, that he must and wished to do so; and at the same time he was so weak and small that somewhere in the most secret corner of his soul he was counting that very moment on the arrival of Pani Emilia, and on the aid which her arrival would bring him. Sunk in this mental struggle, he did not recollect himself till he was halfway on the Zyazd, when he asked, “Why the misery have I gone to Praga?” He halted. The day was fine and was inclining toward evening. Lower down, the Vistula was flowing in the gleam of the sun; and beyond it and beyond the nearer clumps of green, a broad country was visible, covered on the horizon with a rosy and blue haze. Far away, beyond that haze, was Kremen, which Marynia had loved and which she had lost. Pan Stanislav, fixing his eyes on the haze, said to himself, —