“True,” answered Pan Ignas, “as it is true also that one can reproach people with everything.”
“As to Mashko,” continued Pan Stanislav, “he knows, besides, that you are marrying a lady who passes for wealthy; he knows that you are a favorite with Pan Zavilovski, and perhaps he would like to approach him through your favor. Mashko must think of the future; for they tell me that the action to break the will, on which his fate depends, is not very favorable.”
Such was the case really. The young advocate who had appeared in defence of the will had shown much energy, adroitness, and persistence.
Here ceased their conversation about Mashko, for Pani Marynia had begun to inquire about Prytulov and its inhabitants, — a subject which for Pan Ignas was inexhaustible. In his expressive narrative, the residence at Prytulov appeared, with its lindens along the road, then its shady garden, ponds, reeds, alders, and on the horizon a belt of pine-wood. Kremen, which had faded in Marynia’s memory, stood before her now as if present; and, in that momentary revival of homesickness, she thought that sometime she would beg “Stas” to take her even to Vantory, to that little church in which she was baptized, and where her mother was buried. Maybe Pan Stanislav remembered Kremen at that moment, for, waving his hand, he said, —
“It is always the same in the country. I remember Bukatski’s statement, that he loved the country passionately, but on condition ‘that there should be a perfect cook in the house, a big library, beautiful and intelligent women, and no obligation to stay longer than two days in a twelvemonth.’ And I understand him.”
“But still,” said Marynia, “it is thy wish to have a piece of land of thy own near the city.”
“To live in our own place in summer, and not with the Bigiels, as we must this year.”
“But in me,” said Pan Ignas, “certain field instincts revive the moment I am in the country. For that matter, my betrothed does not like the city, and that is enough for me.”
“Does Lineta dislike the city really?” inquired Marynia, with interest.
“Yes, for she is a born artist. I gaze on nature too, and feel it but she shows me things which I should not notice myself. A couple of days ago, we all went into the forest, where she showed me ferns in the sun, for instance. They are so delicate! She taught me also that the trunks of pine-trees, especially in the evening light, have a violet tone. She opens my eyes to colors which I have not seen hitherto, and, like a kind of enchantress going through the forest, discloses new worlds to me.”
Pan Stanislav thought that all this might be a proof of artistic sense, but also it might be an expression of the fashion, and of that universal love for painting color which people talk into themselves, and in which any young lady at present may be occupied, not from love of art, but for show. He had not occupied himself with painting; but he noticed that, for society geese, it had become of late a merchandise, exhibited willingly in Vanity Fair, or, in other words, a means to show artistic culture and an artistic soul.
But he kept these thoughts to himself; and Pan Ignas talked on, —
“Besides, she loves village children immensely. She says that they are such perfect models, and less vulgarized than the little Italians. When there is good weather, we are all day in the fresh air, and we have become sunburnt, both of us. I am learning to play tennis, and make great progress. It is very easy, but goes hard at first. Osnovski plays passionately, so as not to grow fat. It is difficult to tell what a kind and high-minded person that man is.”
Pan Stanislav, who during his stay in Belgium had played tennis no less passionately than Osnovski, began to boast of his skill, and said, —
“If I had been there, I should have shown you how to play tennis.”
“Me you might,” answered Pan Ignas; “but they play perfectly, especially Kopovski.”
“Ah, is Kopovski in Prytulov?” asked Pan Stanislav.
“He is,” said Pan Ignas.
And suddenly they looked into each other’s eyes. In one instant each divined that the other knew something; and they stopped talking. A moment of silence and even of awkwardness ensued, for Pani Marynia blushed unexpectedly; and not being able to hide this, she blushed still more deeply.
Pan Ignas, who had thought that he was the exclusive possessor of the secret, was astonished at seeing her blush, and was confused too; then, wishing to cover the confusion with talk, he went on hurriedly, —
“Yes; Kopovski is in Prytulov. Osnovski invited him, so that Lineta might finish his portraits, for later on there will be no time. Besides, there is a relative of Osnovski’s there also, Panna Ratkovski; and I think that Kopovski is courting her. She is a pleasing and quiet young lady. In August we are all going to Scheveningen, for those ladies do not like Ostend. If Pan Zavilovski had not come with such cordial assistance to my father, I should not have been able to go; but now my hands are free.”
When he had said this, he began to talk with Pan Stanislav about his position in the counting-house, which he did not wish to leave. On the contrary, he asked a leave of some months, in view of exceptional circumstances; then he took farewell and went out, for he was in a hurry to write to his betrothed. In a couple of days he was to go to Prytulov again; but meanwhile he wrote sometimes even twice a day. And on the way to his lodgings he composed to himself the words of the letter, for he knew that Lineta would read it in company with Pani Bronich; that both would seek in it not only heart but wings; and that the most beautiful passages would be read in secret to Pani Aneta, Pan Osnovski, and even Panna Ratkovski. But he did not take this ill of his beloved “Nitechka,” — nay, he was thankful to her that she was proud of him; and he used all his power to answer to her lofty idea of him. The thought did not anger him either, that people would know how he loved her. “Let them know that she was loved as no one else in the world.”
He thought then a little of Marynia too. Her blushes moved him, for he saw in them a proof of a most pure nature, which not only was incapable of evil itself, but which was even ashamed, offended, and alarmed by evil in others. And, comparing her with Pani Aneta, he understood what a precipice divided those women, apparently near each other by social position and mental level.
When Pan Ignas had gone, Pan Stanislav said, —
“Hast thou seen that Zavilovski must have noticed something? Now I have no doubt. That Osnovski is blind, blind!”
“Just his blindness should restrain and hold her back,” said Marynia. “That would be terrible.”
“That is not ‘would be,’ it is terrible. Thou seest, noble souls pay for confidence with gratitude; mean ones, with contempt.”
CHAPTER LI.
These words were a great consolation to Marynia, for, remembering her previous alarms, she thought at once that Pan Stanislav would not have said anything like them had he been capable of betraying her confidence; for she did not suppose that a man can have one measure for his neighbors and another for himself, and that in life these different measures meet at every step. She said to herself that to restrain her husband from everything, it was enough to show perfect trust in him; and she thought now with less fear of the nearness of Pani Kraslavski’s country house to the house of the Bigiels, in which she and her husband were to pass the summer. It was easy to divine that Pani Mashko, who had moved already into her mother’s house, would be a frequent guest at the Bigiels’ from very tedium. Mashko did not send her to Kremen, for he did not wish to be separated from her during summer. From Warsaw, where he had to be on business, it was easy to go every day to Pani Kraslavski’s villa, one hour’s ride from the city barrier, while to distant Kremen such journeys were not possible. To Mashko, really in love with his wife, her presence was requisite to give him strength, for trying times had come again. The case against the will was not lost yet by any means; but it had taken a turn which was unfavorable, since the defence was very vigorous. It had begun to drag, so people began to doubt; and for Mashko doubt approached defeat. His credit, almost fallen at the opening of the
case, had bloomed forth like an apple-tree in spring, but was beginning now to waver a second time. Sledz (the opposing advocate), hostile personally to Mashko, and in general a man of strong will, not only did not cease to spread news of the evil plight of his opponent, but strove that doubts as to the favorable issue of the will case should make their way into the press. A merciless legal and personal warfare set in. Mashko strove with every effort to lame his enemy; and when they met, he bore himself defiantly. This brought no advantage, however. Credit became more and more difficult; and creditors, though so far paid regularly, lost confidence. Again a feverish hunt began for money, to stop one debt with another, and uphold the opinion of ready solvency. Mashko exhibited such intelligence and energy in this struggle that, had it not been for the fundamental error in his life relations, he would have advanced to fame and great prosperity.
The breaking of the will might save all, but to break the will it was needful to wait; meanwhile to mend threads breaking here and there was difficult as well as humiliating. It came to this, that in two weeks after the Polanyetskis had moved to Bigiel’s, when the Mashkos came to them with a visit, Mashko was forced to ask of Pan Stanislav a “friendly service;” that is, his signature to a note for a few thousand rubles.
Pan Stanislav was by nature an obliging man and inclined to be liberal, but he had his theory, which in money affairs enjoined on him to be difficult, hence he refused his signature; but to make up he treated Mashko to his views on money questions between friends, —
“When it is a question not of a mutually profitable affair,” said he to him, “but of a personal service, I refuse on principle to sign; but I will oblige with ready money as far as an acquaintance or a friend may need it in temporary embarrassment, but not in a desperate position. In this last case I prefer to keep my service till later.”
“That means,” answered Mashko, dryly, “that thou art giving me a small hope of support when I am bankrupt.”
“No; it means that should a catastrophe come, and thou borrow of me, thou’lt be able to keep the loan, or begin something anew with that capital. At present thou wilt throw it into the gulf, with loss to me, without profit to thyself.”
Mashko was offended.
“My dear friend,” said he, “thou seest my position in a worse light than I myself see it, and than it is in reality. It is merely a temporary trouble, and a small one. I esteem thy good wishes, but this very day I would not give my prospects for thy actual property. Now I have one other friendly request; namely, that we speak no more of this.”
And they went to the ladies, — Mashko angry at himself for having made the request, and Pan Stanislav for having refused it. His theory, that in money questions it was proper to be unaccommodating, caused him such bitter moments more than once, not to mention the harm which it had done him in life.
When with the ladies his ill-humor increased because of the contrast between Pani Mashko and Marynia. To Mashko’s intense disappointment nothing announced that Pani Mashko was to be a mother. On the contrary, she preserved all the slenderness of maiden forms; and now, especially in her muslin summer robes, she looked, near Marynia, who was greatly changed and unwieldy, not only like a maiden, but younger than her neighbor by some years. Pan Stanislav, to whom it had seemed that the strange attraction which she exercised on him was overcome, felt suddenly that it was not, and that because of their living near each other, and of his seeing her frequently, he would yield more and more to her physical charm.
Still his relations with his wife had become warmer since Pan Ignas’s betrothal evening, and Marynia was in better spirits than before; so now after the Mashkos had gone, she, seeing that the men had parted more coolly than usual and that in general Pan Stanislav was ill-humored, inquired if they had not quarrelled.
Pan Stanislav had not the habit of talking with her about business; but at this moment he was dissatisfied with himself, and felt that need of telling what troubled his mind which a man who is somewhat egotistical feels when he is sure that he will find sympathy in a heart devoted to him. Therefore he said, —
“I refused Mashko a loan; and I tell thee sincerely that it pains me now that I did so. He has certain chances of success yet; but his position is such that before he reaches his object he may be ruined by any obstacle. Of course we have never been in friendship; I almost do not like him. He irritates, he angers me; still life brings us together constantly, and he rendered us once a great service. It is true that I have rendered him services too; but now he has a knife at his throat again.”
Marynia heard these words with pleasure, for she thought that if “Stas” were really under the charm of Pani Mashko, he would not have refused the loan, and second, she saw in his sorrow the proof of a good heart. She too was sorry for their neighbor, but as she had brought her husband hardly any dower, she did not venture to ask “Stas” directly to assist Mashko, she merely inquired, —
“But dost thou think that the loan would be lost?”
“Perhaps so, perhaps not,” answered Pan Stanislav. Then with a certain boastfulness: “I can refuse. Bigiel has a softer heart.”
“But don’t say that. Thou art so kind. The best proof is this, that the present matter is so disagreeable to thee.”
“Naturally it cannot be agreeable to think that a man, though a stranger, is squirming like a snake because of a few thousand rubles. I know what the question is. Mashko has given to-morrow as the last day of payment. Hitherto he has sought money everywhere, but sought guardedly, not wishing to make a noise and alarm his creditors; and in straits he relied on me. So thou seest, he will not pay to-morrow. I will suppose that in a few days he will find money as much as he needs; but meanwhile the opinion of his accuracy will be shaken, and in the position in which he is anything may be ruin for him.”
Marynia looked at her husband; at last she said with a certain timidity, —
“And would this be really difficult for thee?”
“If thou wish the truth, not at all. I have even a check-book here with me; I took it to give earnest-money, if I found a place to buy. Oh, interest in a former adorer and sympathy for him give me something to think of,” said he, laughing.
Marynia laughed too, for she was glad that she had brightened her husband’s face; but, shaking her charming head, she said, —
“No! not sympathy for an adorer, but vile egotism, for I think to myself, are the two thousand rubles worth the sorrow of my husband?”
Pan Stanislav began to smooth her hair with his hand.
“But thou,” said he, “art an honest little woman to thy bones.”
Then he said, “Well, now, decide; one, two, three! to give?”
She made no answer, but began to wink her eyes like a petted child, as a sign to give. Both became joyous at once; but Pan Stanislav pretended to complain and mutter.
“See what it is to be under the slipper. Drag on through the night, man, and beg Pan Mashko to take thy money, because it pleases that fondled figure there.”
And her heart was overflowing with delight, simply that he called her a “fondled figure.” All her former sorrows and alarms vanished as if enchanted by those words. Her radiant eyes looked at her husband with indescribable love. After a while she inquired, —
“Is it necessary to go there right away?”
“Of course. Mashko will go to the city at eight in the morning, and be flying all day.”
“Then give order to make Bigiel’s horse ready.”
“No! The moon is shining, and it is not far; I’ll go on foot.”
Thus saying, he took farewell of Marynia, and, seizing his check-book, went out. On the road he thought, —
“But Marynia might be applied to a wound. She is such a golden woman that though at times a man might like to play some prank, he simply hasn’t the heart for it. God has given me a wife of the kind of which there are few on earth.”
And he felt at the moment that he loved her in truth. He felt also that love alone in itsel
f, as a mutual attraction between persons of different sexes, is not happiness yet, and if ill directed may be even a misfortune; but that, on the other hand, the imagination of people cannot dream out a truer happiness on earth than great and honest love in marriage. “There is nothing superior to that,” said Pan Stanislav to himself; “and to think that it lies at hand; that it is accessible to each one; that it is simply an affair of good and honest will; and that people trample on that ready treasure and sacrifice their peace for disturbance, and their honor for dishonor.”
Thus meditating, he went to the villa of the Mashkos, the windows of which were shining like lanterns on the dark ground of the forest. When he had passed through the gate to the yard lighted by the moon, and had drawn near the porch, he saw, through the window of the room next the entrance, Mashko and his wife, sitting on a low sofa formed like a figure eight, near which was a small table and a lamp. Mashko was embracing his wife with one arm; with his other hand he held her hand, which he raised to his lips, and then lowered, as if thanking her. All at once he embraced the young woman, with both arms drew her toward him, and inclining, began to kiss her mouth passionately; she, with hands dropped without control on her knees, not returning his fondling, but also not refusing, yielded as passively as if she had been deprived of blood and will. For a time Pan Stanislav saw only the top of Mashko’s head, his long side whiskers moving from the kissing; and at sight of that the blood rushed to his head. And he was dashed with just such a flood of desire as when looking for the ribbons of Pani Osnovski’s mantle (in Rome), and the more burning that it was strengthened by a whole series of temptations. This purely physical attraction, surprising to Pan Stanislav himself, and with which he had struggled long, revived now with irresistible force. In a twinkle were roused in him the wild instincts of the primitive man, who, when he sees the woman desired in the embrace of another, is enraged and ready to fight to the death for her with the fortunate rival. Together with desire, jealousy burned him, — an unjust, a pitiful, and the lowest of all kinds of jealousy, because purely physical, but still so unbridled that he, who the moment before had understood that only honest love for a wife might be real happiness, was ready to trample that happiness and that love, if he could trample Mashko, and seize himself in his arms that slender body of a woman, and cover with kisses that face of a puppet, without mind, and less beautiful than the face of his own wife.
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 400