Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “Then what?”

  “I’ll shut myself in, and for a whole week will paint from morning till night. I have said that I would go to shoot ducks — but no! This is more important than you think. I judge, however, that she ought to accept me. I know that she does not like that ladies’ butterfly, that Kopovski; she is alone in the world, an orphan; she will do me a kindness, for which I shall be grateful all my days, because, really, I am a kind man — but I fear to grow embittered.”

  Marynia saw now, for the first time, that Svirski might speak seriously; and she answered, —

  “You are, in truth, a kind man; hence you will never be embittered.”

  “On the contrary,” answered he, with great animation, “it might end in that; I will be outspoken with you. Do you think that I am as happy as I seem? God knows that I am not. I have gained a little money and fame; that is true. But perhaps there has not been among men another who has so stretched forth his hands to a womanly ideal as I have. What is the result? I have met you, Pani Bigiel, maybe two or three others, worthy, true, sensible, pure as tears. Permit me! I do not wish to say pleasant things to you; but in what I say now I do not wish to announce a criticism, but to discover my suffering. I have seen among our women so much tinsel, so many common, frivolous natures, so much egotism, so much shallowness, so many thankless hearts, so many dolls from a picture, so many false aspirations, that from sight of them ten such men as I am might be embittered.” After a while he added: “This child seems different; quiet, mild, and very honest. God grant that it come to pass; God grant her to want me!”

  At the same time Pani Bronich, taking Pan Stanislav aside openly, spoke with uplifted eyes, —

  “Oh, yes! he reminded me of my years of youth; and, as you see, in spite of this — that for a long time relations between us were broken — I preserved friendship for him to the end of his life. You must have heard! but no! you could not have heard, for I have never mentioned this to any one, that it depended on me alone — to be the mother of Helena. Now there is no longer any need to keep the secret. Twice he proposed to me, and twice I refused him. I respected and loved him always; but you will understand that when one is young, something else is sought for, — that is sought for which I found in my Teodor. Oh, that is true! Once he proposed in Ischia, a second time in Warsaw. He suffered much; but what could I do? Would you have acted otherwise if in my place? Tell me sincerely.”

  Pan Stanislav, not having the least desire to say, either sincerely or insincerely, how he would have acted in the position of Pani Bronich, replied, —

  “Did you wish to ask me about something?”

  “Yes, oh, yes! I wanted to ask you about his last moments. Helena said that he died suddenly; but you, who lived so near him, must have visited him, therefore you will remember what he said. Maybe you know what his last intentions and thoughts were? Personally I have not the least interest in the matter. My God! would it not be difficult to act more disinterestedly? You do not know Nitechka? But Pan Zavilovski gave me his word that he would leave Pan Ignas his estates in Poznan. If he did not keep his word, or if he did not try to keep it, may the Lord God forgive him, as I forgive him! Wealth, of course, amounts to nothing. Who has given a better example than Nitechka of disregard for wealth? Were it the opposite, she would not have refused such matches as the Marquis Jao Colimaçao, or Pan Kanafaropulos. You must have heard also of Pan Ufinski, — that same who, with his famous silhouettes, bought for himself a palace in Venice. His last work was to cut out the Prince of Wales. This very year he proposed to use for Nitechka. Oh, true! if any one has sought wealth, it is not we. But I should not wish Nitechka to think that she had made a sacrifice, for still, between us, she is making a sacrifice, and if considered in society fashion, a great sacrifice.”

  Pan Stanislav was an energetic man; angered by the last words of Pani Bronich, he answered, —

  “I have not known either the Marquis Jao Colimaçao or Pan Kanafaropulos, but in this country they are rather fantastic names. I will suppose that Panna Castelli marries Pan Zavilovski out of love; in that case, every sacrifice is excluded. I am an outspoken man, and I say what I think. Whether Pan Ignas is a practical man is another question; but Pan Ignas does not know, and he does not want to ask, what Panna Castelli brings him. The ladies know perfectly what he brings, even from a society point of view.”

  “Oh, but you have not heard that the Castellis are descended from Marino Falieri.”

  “That is precisely what neither I nor any one else has heard. Let us suppose that for me and you such views have no meaning; but since you say, first, that, taking things from a society point of view, Panna Castelli is making a great sacrifice, I do not hesitate to deny that, and to say that, omitting Pan Ignas’s talents and social position, the match is equal.”

  From his tone and face it was evident that if Pani Bronich would not stop at what he said, he was ready to speak more openly; but Pani Bronich, having evidently more than one arrow in her quiver, seized Pan Stanislav’s hand, and, shaking it vigorously, exclaimed, —

  “Oh, how honest you are, to take the part of Ignas so earnestly, and how I love him, as my own son! Whom have I in the world if not those two? And if I inquire whether you know of any arrangement made by Pan Zavilovski, I do so only through love for Pan Ignas. I know that old people like to put off and put off, just as if death let itself be delayed by that. Oh, death will not be delayed! no, no! Helena has no use for all those millions; but Ignas — he might then spread his wings really. For me and Nitechka the question beyond all questions is his talent. But if anything should come to pass—”

  “What can I tell you?” said Pan Stanislav. “That Pan Zavilovski was thinking of Ignas is for me undoubted, and I tell you why. About ten days since, he gave command to bring some old arms to show them to me; thereupon he turned to his daughter, and I heard him say to her, ‘These are not worth enumerating in the will; but after my death give them to Ignas, for you have no use for them.’ From this I infer that either he made some will in favor of Ignas, or thought of it. Further I know nothing, for I made no inquiry of him. Should there be any new will, it will be known in a couple of days, and Panna Helena of a certainty will not hide it.”

  “Do you know that honest Helena well? But no, no! You do not know her as I know her, and I can be a surety for her. Never suspect her in my presence! Helena hide a will? Never, sir!”

  “Let the lady be so kind as not to ascribe to me a thought which I have not, and from which I guard myself. The will can in no case be concealed, for it is made before witnesses.”

  “And do you see that it is not even possible to conceal it, for it is drawn up before witnesses? I was sure that it could not be concealed; but Pan Zavilovski loved Nitechka so much that even out of regard for her, he could not forget Ignas. He carried her in his arms when she was so big, see.” Here Pani Bronich put one hand above the other, so as to give Pan Stanislav in that manner an idea of how big Lineta might have been at the time; but after a while she added, “And maybe she wasn’t even that big.”

  Then they returned to the rest of the company, who, having finished a survey of the garden, were assembling for dinner. Pan Stanislav, looking at the charming face of Lineta, thought that when Pan Zavilovski carried her in his arms, she might, in fact, have been a nice and pretty child. Suddenly he remembered Litka, whom he carried in his arms also, and inquired, —

  “Then are you an old acquaintance of the deceased?”

  “Oh — so,” answered Lineta. “About four years. Aunt, how long is it since we became acquainted with Pan Zavilovski?”

  “Of what is that dear head thinking?” exclaimed Pani Bronich. “Ah, my dear, what a happy age! and what a happy period!”

  During this time Svirski, who was sitting near Panna Ratkovski, felt that it would not be so easy for him to carry out the promise given Marynia as it had seemed to him. Witnesses hindered him, and, still more, a certain alarm about the heart, joined to a loss of usual presenc
e of mind and freedom. “To think,” said he to himself, “that I am a greater coward than I supposed.” And he did not succeed. He wanted at least to prepare the ground, and he talked of something different from what he wished; he noticed now that Panna Ratkovski had a beautiful neck, and pearl tones about her ears, and a very charming voice — but he noticed with astonishment that this made him still more timid. After lunch the whole company sat together as if through perversity. The ladies were wearied by the funeral; and when, an hour later, Pani Aneta announced that it was time to return, he felt at once a sensation of disappointment and relief.

  “It is not my fault,” thought he; “I had a fixed purpose.”

  But when the ladies were taking their places, the feeling of solace changed into sorrow for himself. He thought of his loneliness, and of this, that he had no one on whom to bestow his reputation or his property; he thought of his sympathy for Panna Ratkovski, of the confidence which she had roused in him, of the sincere feeling which he had conceived for her at the first glance, — and at the last moment he took courage.

  Giving his arm to the young lady to conduct her to the carriage, he said, —

  “Pan Osnovski has asked me to come again to Prytulov, and I will come, but with a brush and palette; I should like to have your head.”

  And he stopped, trying how to pass from that which he had said to that which he wished to say, and feeling at the same time that he needed to hurry immensely, for there was no time. But Panna Ratkovski, evidently unaccustomed to this, that any man should occupy himself with her, inquired with unfeigned astonishment, —

  “Mine?”

  “Permit me to be your echo,” replied Svirski, hurriedly, and in a somewhat stifled voice, “and to repeat that word.”

  Panna Ratkovski looked at him as if not understanding what the question was; but at that moment Pani Aneta called her to the carriage, so Svirski had barely time to press her hand and say, —

  “Till we meet again.”

  The carriage moved on. Her open parasol hid the face of Panna Ratkovski quickly; the artist followed with his eyes the departing ladies, and at last gave himself the question, —

  “Have I made a declaration, or not?”

  He was certain, however, that Panna Ratkovski would think, during the whole drive, of what he had told her. He thought, also, that he had answered adroitly, and that he had made good use of her question. In this regard he was satisfied; but at the same time he was astonished that he felt neither great joy nor fear, and that he had a certain dull feeling that something was lacking in the whole matter. It seemed to him that, in a moment so important, he was too little moved. And he returned from the gate to the house in thoughtfulness.

  Marynia, who had seen the parting from a distance, had red ears from curiosity. Though her husband was not in the room at that moment, she dared not ask first; but Svirski read so clearly in her eyes the question, “Have you proposed?” that he laughed, and answered just as if she had inquired, —

  “Yes, almost. Not completely; there was no chance for further conversation, so I could not receive an answer. I do not know even whether I was understood.”

  Marynia, not seeing in him that animation with which he had spoken to her before, and, ascribing this to alarm, wished to give him consolation, but the entrance of Pan Stanislav prevented her. Svirski too began to take farewell at once; but wishing evidently to satisfy her curiosity before he went away, he said, not regarding the presence of Pan Stanislav, —

  “In every case I shall be in Prytulov to-morrow, or I shall write a letter; I hope that the answer will be favorable.”

  Then he kissed her hands with great friendship, and, after a while, found himself alone in his droshky, in clouds of yellow dust, and in his own thoughts.

  As an artist he was so accustomed to seizing in artist fashion various details which intruded themselves on his eyes that he did so even now, but mechanically, without proper consciousness, as if only at the surface of his brain. But in the depth of it he was meditating on everything that had happened.

  “What the devil, Svirski!” said he to himself; “what is happening to thee? Hast thou not passed twenty-five years so as to be able to jump over this ditch? Has not that happened for which thou wert eager this morning? Where is thy transport? thy delight? Why art thou not shouting, At last! Thou art about to marry! Dost understand, old man? At last! At last!”

  But that was vain urging. The internal man remained cold. He understood that what had happened ought to be happiness; but he did not respond to it. Greater and greater astonishment was seizing him. He had acted, it seems, with all knowledge and will and choice. He was not a child, nor frivolous, nor a hysterical person, who knows not what he wants. Having reasoned out, finally, that it would be well, he had not changed his opinion. Panna Ratkovski, too, was ever that same retiring, “very reliable person;” why did the thought that she would be the “little woman,” desired from of old, not warm him more vigorously? Why did hope, changed now almost into certainty, not turn into joy? And at the bottom of his soul there remained a certain feeling of disappointment.

  “What I told her,” thought he, “might be adroit, but it was dry. Let a thunderbolt strike me, if it was not, and, besides, it was unfinished. Simply I have no certainty yet, and I do not feel the thing as finished.”

  Here the impressions of an artist interrupted the thread of his thought. Sheep scattered on a sloping field visible from the road shaded by distance, and also bathed in the sunlight, seemed on the green background bright spots, with a strong tint of blue fringed with gold.

  “Those sheep are sky blue, — impressionists are right in a small degree,” muttered Svirski; “but may the devil take them! I am going to marry!”

  And he returned to his meditations. Yes! The result did not answer to his hope and expectation. There are various thoughts which a man does not wish to confess to himself; there are feelings also which he does not wish to turn into definite thoughts. So it was with Svirski. He did not love Panna Ratkovski, and here was the direct answer to all the questions which he put to himself. But he dodged this answer as long as he could. He did not like to confess that he took that girl only because he had a great wish to marry. He wanted to explain to himself that he did not feel the affair finished, which was an evasion. He was not in love! Others reached love through a woman; but he wanted to fit a woman to his general internal demand for loving, — that is, he went by a road the reverse of the usual one. Others, having a divinity, built for it a church; he, having a church ready, was bringing into it a divinity, not because he had worshipped the divinity with all his power previously, but because it seemed to him not badly fitted for the architecture of the temple. And now he understood why he had shown so much ardor and resolution in the morning, but was so cold at that moment. By this was explained too the immense impetus in carrying out his plan, and the want of spiritual “halleluia,” after it had been carried out.

  Svirski’s astonishment began to pass into sadness. He thought that he would have done better, perhaps, if, instead of thinking so much about a woman, instead of forming theories of what a woman ought to be, he had caught up the first girl who pleased his heart and senses. He understood now that a man loves the woman whom he does love, and that he does not fit to her any preconceived ideas, for ideas of love — like children — can be born only of a woman. All this was the more felt by him since he was conscious that he could love immensely; and he saw more and more positively that he was not loving as he might love. He remembered what in his time Pan Stanislav had told him in Rome of a certain young doctor, who, trampled by a thoughtless puppet, said: “I know what she is; but I cannot tear my soul from her.” There was love strong as death; that man loved! It is unknown why Panna Castelli and Pan Ignas came at once to Svirski’s mind; he remembered also Pan Ignas’s face as he had seen it in Prytulov, lost in contemplation and, as it were, rapt into Heaven.

  And again was roused in him the artist, who by whole years of cu
stom takes the place of the man, even when the man is thinking of things the most personal. For a while he forgot himself and Panna Ratkovski, and thought of Pan Ignas’s face, and of that which formed specially its most essential expression. Was it a certain concentrated exaltation? Yes! but there was something else which was still more essential.

  And suddenly he trembled.

  “A wonderful thing,” thought he; “that is a tragic head.”

  CHAPTER LV.

  A few days later Pan Ignas was summoned by Pan Stanislav, and went to the city. The young man had a great desire to remain in Prytulov; but Panna Helena wished absolutely that he should be present at the opening of her father’s will. He went, therefore, with Pan Stanislav and the grand-nephew of old Pan Zavilovski, — the advocate Kononovich, — for that purpose to Yasmen. But when Pan Ignas, during the two following days, in his letters to “Nitechka,” poured forth on paper only his feelings, and made not the least reference to the will, Pani Bronich, whom such effusions had delighted up to that time, confessed now, as a secret, to Pani Aneta, that that was a stupid way of writing to a betrothed, and that there was quelque chose de louche in a silence which was as if designed. The first of those letters was sent, it is true, from the city, the second immediately after his arrival in Yasmen; the old lady insisted, however, that in every case Pan Ignas should have mentioned his hopes, at least, for by silence he showed “Nitechka” a lack of confidence, and simply offended her.

  Osnovski insisted, on the contrary, that Pan Ignas was silent concerning his hopes through delicacy toward Lineta; and on this subject it came to a little dispute between him and Pani Bronich, who on that occasion uttered a psychic principle, that men in general have too weak a conception of two things: logic and delicacy. “Oh, that is true! As to logic, it is not your fault, perhaps; but you are that way, my Yozio, all of you.” Not being able, however, to stay two days in one place, she went to the city on some plausible pretext, so as to find an informant in the question of the will.