Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  In these reproaches there was a portion of truth. Svirski had not fallen in love decidedly with Panna Ratkovski; but her refusal pained him more deeply than he acknowledged, and, not being able to master his vexation, he gave way to general conclusions about women, citing Panna Ratkovski as an example, and to her disadvantage.

  Now he saw the whole vanity of such conclusions. “These stupid syntheses have ruined me always,” thought he. “Women are individuals like all people; and the general concept woman explains nothing whatever. There is a Panna Castelli, there is a Pani Osnovski, in whom I admit various rascalities, without, however, having proof of them; but on the other hand there is a Pani Polanyetski, a Pani Bigiel, a Sister Aniela, a Panna Helena, and a Panna Stefania. Poor child! and so it serves me right. She was there suffering in silence, and I was gnashing my teeth. If that girl isn’t worth ten times more than I, then that sun isn’t worth my pipe. She had a sacred reason in giving a refusal to such a buffalo. I will go to the Orient, and that is the end of the matter. Such light as there is in Egypt, there is nowhere else on earth. And what an honest woman! Moreover, she has done me good, even with her refusal, for through her I have convinced myself that my theory about women should be broken on the back of a dog. But if Panna Helena puts a whole regiment of dragoons before her door, I must see that poor girl and say what I think to her.”

  In fact, he went on the following morning to Panna Helena’s. They did not wish to admit him, but he insisted so much that at last he was admitted. Panna Helena, judging that friendship and anxiety alone had brought him, conducted him even to the chamber in which the wounded man was lying. There, in the gloom of fastened blinds, he saw Pan Ignas, from whom came the odor of iodine, his head bound, his jaw protruding; and with him those two wearied out women, the fever of sleeplessness on their faces, and really like two shadows. The wounded man lay with open lips; he was changed, and resembled himself in nothing. He was as if incomparably older; his eyelids were swollen, and protruding from under the bandage. Svirski had liked him greatly, and with his sensitiveness had not less sympathy for him than had Pan Stanislav and Osnovski; he was struck, however, this time by his deformity. “He has fixed himself,” thought he; then, turning to Panna Helena, he asked in an undertone, —

  “Has he not regained consciousness?”

  “No,” answered she, in a whisper.

  “What does the doctor say?”

  Panna Helena moved her thin hand in sign that all was uncertain yet.

  “This is the fifth day,” whispered she again.

  “And the fever decreases,” said Panna Ratkovski.

  Svirski wished to offer his services in watching the sick man; but Panna Helena indicated with her eyes a young doctor, whom he was not able to distinguish at once in the darkness, but who, sitting in an armchair near the table, with a basin and pile of iodine wadding, was dozing from weariness, waiting till another should relieve him.

  “We have two,” said Panna Ratkovski, “and besides people from the hospital, who know how to nurse the sick.”

  “But you ladies are wonderfully wearied.”

  “It is a question here of the sick man,” answered she, looking toward the bed.

  Svirski followed her glance. His eyes were better accustomed now to the gloom, and saw distinctly the face, motionless, with lips almost black. The long body was motionless also, only the fingers of his emaciated hand, lying on the coverlet, stirred with a monotonous movement, as if scratching.

  “They will take him out in a couple of days, as God is in Heaven!” thought he, remembering his colleague, that “Slav” with whom Bukatski had disputed in his time, and who, when he had shot himself in the head, died only after two weeks of torture.

  Wishing, however, to give comfort to the women, he said, in spite of that of which he was certain, —

  “Wounds of this kind are either mortal at once, or are cured.”

  Panna Helena made no answer, but her face contracted nervously, and her lips grew pale. Evidently there was a terrible thought in her soul, that he also might die, and she did not wish to admit that she had had enough with that other suicide, and at the same time it was for her a question of something more than saving his life for Pan Ignas.

  Svirski began to take farewell. He entered with a speech prepared for Panna Ratkovski, to whom he had resolved to acknowledge that he had judged her unjustly, and to express all the homage which he felt for her, and to beg for her friendship; but in presence of the real tragedy of those two women, and of the danger of death, and of that half corpse, he saw at once that everything which he intended to say would be poor and petty, and that it was not the time for such empty and personal matters.

  He merely pressed to his lips in silence the hand of Panna Helena, and then that of Panna Ratkovski; and, going out of that room filled with misfortune and permeated with iodine, he drew a deep breath. In his artistic imagination was represented distinctly the changed Pan Ignas, ten years older, with bound head and black lips. And in spite of all the sympathy which he had for the man, indignation seized him all at once.

  “He made a hole in his skull,” muttered he; “he made a hole in his talent, — and doesn’t care! and those souls there are dragging themselves to death and trembling like leaves.”

  Then a feeling, as it were of jealousy, took hold of him, as if he were sorry for himself, and he began to speak in a monologue, —

  “Well, old man! but if thou, for example, were to pack a bit of lead into thy talent, no one would walk at thy bedside on tiptoe.”

  Further meditation was interrupted by Pan Plavitski; who, meeting him at the cross-street, stopped him, and began conversation, —

  “I am just from Karlsbad,” said he. “O Lord, how many elegant women! I am going to Buchynek to-day. I have just seen Stanislav, and know that my daughter is well; but he has grown thin somehow.”

  “Yes for he has had trouble. Have you heard of Pan Ignas?”

  “I have, I have! But what will you say of that?”

  “A misfortune.”

  “A misfortune; but this too, that there are no principles at present. All those new ideas, those atheisms of yours, and hypnotisms, and socialisms. The young generation have no principles, — that is where the trouble lies.”

  CHAPTER LIX.

  Pan Stanislav, under the impression of the catastrophe, forgot utterly his promise to inform Osnovski by letter how Pan Ignas had borne the rupture of the marriage and the departure of Lineta. But Osnovski, having learned from the newspapers what had happened, inquired every day by telegraph about the condition of the patient, and was greatly alarmed. In the press and in public the most contradictory accounts were current. Some journals declared that his condition was hopeless; others predicted a speedy recovery. For a long time Pan Stanislav could report nothing certain; and only after two weeks did he send a despatch that the sick man had ceased to waver between death and life, and that the doctors guaranteed his recovery.

  Osnovski answered with a long letter, in which he gave various news from Ostend, —

  “God reward you for good news! All danger has passed then decisively? I cannot tell you what a weight fell from the hearts of both of us. Tell Pan Ignas that not only I, but my wife received the news of his recovery with tears. She does not speak of any one else now, and thinks only of him. Oh, what women are! volumes might be written on this subject; but Anetka is an exception, and will you believe, that in spite of all her terror and sorrow and sympathy, Ignas has increased in her eyes through this unhappy event? They seek romantic sides always; so far does this reach that even in Kopovski, as the originator of the misfortune, Anetka, who knows all his stupidity, sees now something demonic. But beyond all she praises God for the recovery of Ignas. May he live to the glory of our society, and may he find a being worthy of him! From your despatch, I infer that he is under the care of Panna Helena. May God grant her too every blessing for such an honest heart! Really she has no one in the world nearer to her than Ignas, and
I imagine that he is still dearer to her through remembrance of Ploshovski.

  “Now, since you have quieted me as to Ignas’s recovery, I can send you some news about Aunt Bronich and Lineta. Perhaps you have heard that they are here with Kopovski. They went first to Scheveningen; but, hearing that the small-pox was there, they escaped to Ostend, not supposing that we were here. We met a number of times in the Cursaal, but pretended not to know them. Kopovski even left cards with us; but we did not return his visit, though, as my wife says justly, he is far less to blame in all this than the two women. When I received your despatch, stating that Ignas is saved surely, I thought that humanity itself commanded me to send the news to them, and I did so. As matters stand, life is unpleasant for them here, since their acquaintances withdraw; so I wished them to know at least that they have no human life on their consciences, all the more since Lineta, as it would seem, felt the deed of Ignas. In fact, they called the same day on us, and my wife received them. She says truly that evil is moral sickness, and that we should not desert relatives in sickness. In general, this first meeting was awkward and painful for both sides. Of Ignas we said not a word. Kopovski appears here as Lineta’s betrothed; but they do not seem very happy, though, to tell the truth, she is better fitted for him than for Ignas, and in that view at least what has happened may be considered God’s work. I know also from persons aside that Aunt Bronich mentions it as such. I need not tell you how that abuse of the name of God angers me. I know that she tried to talk into some acquaintances stopping here that she and her niece broke with Ignas because of his want of religious feelings; to others she told tales of his despotism and of his disagreement in temper with Lineta. In all this she deceives not only the world, but herself. Aunt, through persuading herself and others of it unceasingly, believes at last in the lofty character of Lineta, and in this too she is immensely disappointed. She feels bound really to defend her; she invents God knows what in her behalf, and struggles like a mad woman; but a feeling of disappointment sticks in her, and I think that she grieves over it, for she has grown very thin. Evidently they value relations with us, which, as they hope, may bring them back to society; but though my wife received them, our relations cannot return to their former condition, of course. I, first of all, could not permit this, from regard to my duty of choosing a proper society for my wife. Lineta’s marriage with Kopovski is to be in Paris two months from now. Of course we shall not be present. Moreover, my wife looks on the marriage very skeptically. I have written thus at length hoping to oblige you to write as much, with all details about Ignas. If his health permits, press his hand for me, and tell him that he has and will have in me a most cordial friend, who is devoted heart and soul to him.”

  Marynia, notwithstanding the lateness of the season, was living yet in Buchynek; so that Pan Stanislav, when he received this letter in the counting-house, showed it first of all to the Bigiels, with whom he dined.

  “I am glad of one thing,” said Pani Bigiel, when she had finished the letter; “she will marry that Kopovski right away. Otherwise I should be afraid that something might spring up again in Ignas, and that after he had recovered he might be ready to return to her.”

  “No; Pan Ignas has much character, and I think that he would not return in any case,” said Bigiel. “What is thy thought, Stas?”

  Bigiel was so accustomed to ask the opinion of his partner in every question, that he could not get on without it in this one.

  “I think that they, when they look around on what they have done, will be rather ready to return. As to Ignas, I have lived so many years, and seen so many improbable things, that I will not answer for any one.”

  At that moment these words occurred again to Pan Stanislav: “I know what she is, but I cannot tear my soul from her.”

  “But wouldst thou return in his place?” inquired Bigiel.

  “I think not; but I will not answer for myself even. First of all, I shouldn’t have shot myself in the forehead; but still, I don’t know even that.”

  And he said this with great discouragement, for he thought that if there was any man who had no right to answer for himself it was he.

  But Pani Bigiel began, —

  “I would give I do not know what to see Ignas; but really it is easier to take a fortress than to go to him. And I cannot understand why Panna Helena keeps him from people so, even from such friends as we are.”

  “She keeps him from people because the doctor has ordered absolute quiet. Besides, since he has regained consciousness, the sight of his nearest friends, even, is terribly painful to him; and this we can understand. He cannot talk with them about his deed; and he sees that every one who approaches him is thinking of nothing else.”

  “But you are there every day.”

  “They admit me because I was connected with the affair from the beginning; I was the first to report the rupture of the marriage, and I watched him.”

  “Does he mention that girl yet?”

  “I asked Panna Helena and Panna Ratkovski about this; they answered, ‘Never.’ I have sat for hours with him alone, and have heard nothing. It is wonderful: he is conscious; he knows that he is wounded, knows that he is sick; but he seems at the same time to remember nothing of past events, just as if the past had no existence whatever. The doctors say that wounds in the head cause various and very peculiar phenomena of this kind. For the rest, he recognizes every one who approaches him, exhibits immense gratitude to Panna Helena and Panna Ratkovski. He loves Panna Ratkovski especially, and evidently yearns for her when she goes for a while from him. But they are both, as God lives! — there are no words to tell how good they are.”

  “Panna Ratkovski moves me especially,” said Pani Bigiel.

  Bigiel put in, “Meditating over everything carefully, I have come to the conclusion that she must have fallen in love with him.”

  “Thou hast spent time for nothing in meditating,” answered Pan Stanislav, “for that is as clear as the sun. The poor thing hid this feeling in herself till misfortune came. Why did she reject such an offer as Svirski’s? I make no secret of this, for Svirski himself tells it on every side. It seems to him that he owes her satisfaction because he suspected her of being in love with Kopovski. When Pan Ignas shot himself, she was living with her relative, Pani Melnitski, after the Osnovskis had gone; but when she learned that Panna Helena had taken Ignas, she went and begged permission to remain with her. All know perfectly how to understand this; but she does not mind such considerations, just as Panna Helena herself does not mind them.”

  Here Pan Stanislav turned to Pani Bigiel, —

  “Panna Ratkovski moves you deeply; but think, as God lives, what a tragic figure Panna Helena is. Pan Ignas is alive, at least, but Ploshovski aimed better; and, according to her ideas, there is no mercy for him, even in that world. But she loves him. There is a position! Finally, after such a suicide, comes another; it tears open all wounds, freshens every memory. Panna Ratkovski may be a touching figure; but the other has her life broken forever, and no hope, nothing left but despair.”

  “True, true! But she must be attached to Ignas, since she cares for him so.”

  “I understand why she does it; she wants to beg of the Lord God mercy for the other man, because she has saved Pan Ignas.”

  “That may be,” said Bigiel. “And who knows that Pan Ignas may not marry Panna Ratkovski, when he recovers?”

  “If he forgets that other, if he is not broken, and if he recovers.”

  “How, if he recovers? Just now thou hast said that his recovery is undoubted.”

  “It is undoubted that he will live; but the question is, will he be the former Ignas? Even though he had not fired into his head, it would be difficult to say whether such an experience would not break a man who is so sensitive. But add a broken head; that must be paid for. Who knows what will happen further? but now, for example, though he is conscious, though he talks with sense, at times he breaks off, and cannot recollect the simplest expression. Before,
he never hesitated. This, too, is strange, — he remembers the names of things well, but when it is a question of any act, he stops most generally, and either remembers with effort, or forgets altogether.”

  “What does the doctor say?”

  “In God is his hope that it will pass; the doctor does not lose hope. But even yesterday, while I was going in, Ignas said, ‘Pani—’ and stopped. Evidently he was thinking of Marynia, whom he recalled on a sudden, but he could not ask about her. Every day he talks more, it is true; but before he recovers, much time may pass, and certain traces may remain forever.”

  “But does Marynia know of everything?”

  “While there was no certainty that he would live, I kept everything in secret; but after that I thought it better to tell her. Of course I was very cautious. It was hard to keep the whole matter from her longer. People were talking too much about it, and I feared that she might hear from people on one side. I told her, moreover, that the wound was slight, and that nothing threatened him, but that the doctors forbade him visitors. Even thus she was greatly affected.”

  “When will you bring her to the city?”

  “While the weather is good, I prefer to keep her in the country.”

  Further conversation was interrupted by a letter, which the servant gave Pan Stanislav. The letter was from Mashko, and contained the following words: —

  “I wish to see thee in thy own interest. I will wait for thee at my house till five.”