“The doctor has a habit of thinking aloud,” he said.
“And bawling out yet more loudly,” grumbled the notary.
“How is your flute?” the doctor replied, laughingly.
But at that moment the servant announced that dinner was ready. Hearing this, Pani Otocka turned with a peculiar smile to her sister and said:
“Marynia, your hair is all disheveled. Look at yourself in a glass.”
The young lady raised her hands to her head, but as there were no mirrors in the salon, she, a little confused, said:
“Beg pardon, I will return immediately.”
She hastened to her room, but soon returned still more confused with blushes and with a radiant countenance.
“A ladies’ saddle!” she began to cry, “a most beautiful ladies’ saddle!”
And passing her eyes over those present, she pointed at Gronski:
“Was it you?”
“I confess,” said Gronski, spreading out his hands and bowing his head.
She, on her part, had such a desire to kiss his hand that if the doctor and the notary had not been present, she certainly would have done so. In the meanwhile she began to thank him with effusive and perfectly childish glee.
“I see, Panna Marynia, that you are fond of horseback riding,” said Szremski.
“I am fond of everything.”
“There you have it,” cried the amused doctor.
“Only secure a gentle horse; otherwise it will not be hard to meet with accidents,” observed the notary.
It soon became apparent that such a one could be procured, for on the economical Jastrzeb estate horses were the only item of which a strict account was not kept. Krzycki indeed maintained that they could be bred profitably, but he did not breed them for gain but from that traditional love of them, the immoderateness of which the reverend Skarga, a few centuries before, censured in his ancestors in the eloquent words: “Dearer to you is the offspring of a mare than the Son of God!” Horses therefore were not wanting in Jastrzeb and the conversation about them and horsemanship continued, to the great dissatisfaction of the notary, throughout the whole dinner. Those present learned that Marynia was not entirely a novice, for at Zalesin, at her sister’s, she rode in summer time almost daily in the company of the old manager on a clumsy, lanky pony, named Pierog. Her sister would not permit her to ride on any other horse and “what enjoyment could there be riding on Pierog?” She stated that this Pierog had a nasty habit of returning home, not when she wanted to, but when he desired to, and no urging nor threats could swerve him from his purpose when once formed. She also sincerely envied Miss Anney who rode so well and had ridden all the horses in Zalesin, even those unaccustomed to the saddle. But in England all the ladies ride on horseback, while with us somebody is worrying about somebody else. She hoped, however, that in Jastrzeb with so many skilled riders, “Zosia” will not have any fears about her; and that immediately after dinner they will go on an equestrian excursion and that she will be allowed to join the party, without, thank God, Pierog.
Ladislaus, in whom expectations of distant horseback jaunts in Miss Anney’s company had excited fond hopes, and whom, as well as the others, the story about Pierog had put into good humor, turned to Marynia and said:
“I will give you a horse with iron legs, who is called ‘Swimmer’ because he can swim excellently. As for an excursion, the day is long and we could arrange one, if it were not that it is beginning to get cloudy.”
“It will surely clear up,” answered Marynia, “and I will dress myself right after dinner.”
In fact, after dinner the guests were barely able to finish their black coffee before she appeared on the veranda, dressed in a black, tight-fitting riding-habit. In it she was simply charming, but so slender and tall that Gronski, gazing at her with his usual admiration, was the first to begin jesting:
“A real little flute,” he said. “The wind will carry off such a woodcock, especially since it is commencing to blow.”
And a strong blast of the western, warm wind really began to bend the tree-tops and drive here and there over the heavens clouds which on the azure background assumed large, ruddy, and globular forms.
Ladislaus, however, gave orders to saddle the horses and soon thereafter hastened to the stables to supervise the work. Miss Anney went upstairs to change her clothes; Gronski and Dolhanski followed her example. On the veranda remained only Pani Zosia, the doctor, the notary, and, attired as an equestrienne, Marynia, who cast uneasy glances alternately at the stables and at the sky, which was becoming more and more cloudy. After a time the first drops of rain began to fall and immediately thereafter a more important hindrance to their excursion occurred, for unexpectedly neighbors from Gorek, Pani Wlocek and daughter, the same who attended the funeral of Zarnowski, arrived in a carriage. In view of this, the horseback jaunt had to be abandoned.
The Wlocek ladies came to ascertain the condition of Pani Krzycki’s health and at the same time to beg Ladislaus for advice and succor, for in Gorek an agricultural strike had suddenly broke out among the manor and farmhouse laborers. The old coachman could hardly be induced to drive them to Jastrzeb for he was threatened with a beating. Both ladies were much frightened, much powdered, and more pathetic than ever. After the first greetings, mutual introductions, and a short talk about Pani Krzycki’s rheumatism, the mother, at the after-dinner tea, addressed Ladislaus in doleful terms, adjuring him to hasten, like a knight of old, to the defence of oppressed innocence. She said that she was not concerned about herself, as after the losses she had survived and the suffering she had undergone, “the silent grave” in the Rzeslewo cemetery was the most appropriate refuge for her; but an orphan remained who still had some claims upon life. Let him extend some friendly protection and shield from blows and attacks this lone orphan for whom she herself was ready to sacrifice her life. To this the orphan replied that she too was not concerned about herself but about the peace of Mamma; — and in this manner the conversation changed almost exclusively in to a dialogue between these ladies in which the words, “Allow me, child,” “Permit me, Mamma,” were repeated every minute and in which the immoderate willingness of both parties to be immolated became in the end almost tart. Ladislaus, knowing these ladies of old, listened gravely; Pani Zosia looked at the bottom of her cup, not daring to glance at Marynia, who contracted the corners of her mouth; the notary sniffed and chewed; and the doctor ejaculated his “Ha!” with such resonance that the flies whisked off the net mantle which covered the butter and pastry.
But, in the meanwhile, out-of-doors the storm and thunder began to rage and interrupted the sacrificial dialogue between mother and daughter. The rooms darkened; on the windows for a time the patter of the shower was heard; and the lightning illuminated the cloudy firmament. But this lasted a brief while; after which Ladislaus began to reply and promise aid to the ladies, always with becoming gravity but at the same time with a peculiar kind of expression on his face which portended that the young wag had a surprise concealed in his bosom. He announced, therefore, that he was ready to mount a horse and invest Gorek with his care; afterwards he quieted the ladies with the assurances that the manifestations which had so alarmed them were transient; that in Rzeslewo, it was temporarily the same, but that undoubtedly within a short time means of foiling that evil would be found. In conclusion he turned to Pani Wlocek and, pointing at Dolhanski, unexpectedly said:
“I do not know whether my protection will be effective for I must watch at the same time over Rzeslewo and over Jastrzeb, in which at present we have such agreeable guests. But here is Pan Dolhanski, a man well known for his courage, energy, and sagacity, who has given me the best advice about Rzeslewo. If he wished to aid you or if he agreed to take into his hands the affairs of Gorek and Kwasnoborz, I am certain that he would establish order there in the course of a few days, and under his wings, ladies, no dangers could befall you.”
All eyes, and particularly the eyes of the mother and daughte
r, were now directed at Dolhanski. But if Ladislaus, who wanted to revenge himself on him for his “officiousness,” calculated that he would get him into an unexpected scrape, he was mistaken, for Dolhanski coolly bowed to the ladies from Gorek and replied, drawling each word as usual:
“With the greatest pleasure, but we must wait until the rain stops.”
“Then, sir, you agree to be our knight?” cried Pani Wlocek, extending her hands towards him and at the same time gazing at him with a suddenly awakened curiosity and surprise.
“With the greatest pleasure,” repeated Dolhanski; “the strike will be over to-morrow.”
His complete self-assurance impressed everybody, particularly the ladies from Gorek. At the same time, the cold tone in which he spoke affected Pani Wlocek so much that for a while she lost her usual pathetic volubility and after an interval she replied:
“In the name of an orphan, I thank you.”
But the orphan apparently preferred to thank him herself, for she stretched out both hands towards Dolhanski and after a brief silence, which might be explained by her emotions, spoke in a voice resembling the rustle of leaves:
“I am concerned about mamma.”
“So am I,” Dolhanski assured her.
But the mother and daughter now turned to each other:
“Allow me, child; here I am nothing.”
“Permit me, Mamma; Mamma is everything.”
“But I beg pardon, child—”
“Pardon me, Mamma,—”
And the strife about the burnt offerings began anew. It did not, however, last long, as, firstly, the doctor began to make so much noise that they could be heard with difficulty and then, Pani Krzycki, whom the young physician permitted to rise and move to an armchair, sent a message asking the ladies to visit her. After their departure the doctor went to the office to write out specifically where and how the cure should be conducted; the notary became occupied with his flute in the vestibule. Gronski, Dolhanski, and Ladislaus for a while remained alone.
Then Dolhanski addressed Ladislaus:
“What are these Gorek and Kwasnoborz?”
“About fifteen hundred acres, and there is also Zabianka.”
“So I have heard. And the soil?”
“Almost the same as at Rzeslewo. In Zabianka it is said to be better.”
“So I have heard. The state of the fortune?”
“Bad and good. Bad, because these ladies will not invest in anything. Good, because they have no debts and every penny which flows from the husbandry, after it gets into the stockings, never beholds daylight again.”
“That is what I have been waiting for,” said Dolhanski.
“They are as stingy as they are pathetic, and who knows whether they are not stingier?”
“Let them hoard.”
And Gronski began to laugh and quoted:
“Sic vos non vobis nidificatis aves — sic vos non vobis mellificates apes—”
“Yes,” said Dolhanski.
After which suddenly to Gronski:
“To-morrow I will propose for the hand of Cousin Otocka.”
“To-day you are full of surprises,” replied Gronski.
“Wait! And I will be given the mitten.”
“Without any doubt.”
“But I want to have a clear conscience. After which I will drive over to Gorek.”
“That is already known. And you will quell the agitated waves of a strike.”
“In the course of a day. As you see me here.”
After which he pointed at Ladislaus.
“That simplex servus Dei became unwittingly an instrument in the hands of Providence. The Lord often avails Himself of pigmies. For this, when you become bankrupt in Jastrzeb, apply to me at Gorek.”
“Provided that before that time you are not reduced to the same level,” responded Ladislaus, laughing. “You are an excellent leveller.”
“We live in an age of universal levelling. But what is Panna Wlocek’s Christian name?”
“Kajetana.”
“Plait-il?”
“Kajetana,” repeated Krzycki. “Her father’s christian name was Kajetan and she was named in memory of him.”
“Tell me then why that well-stocked Kajetana preserved herself in her virgin state until the age of thirty or more?”
“Thirty-five, to be accurate. That is what my mother said not long ago. She remembers the day of her birth. As to why she is unmarried the reason is plain. Parties were not wanting but those ladies looked too high. In the neighborhood, we only have the common nobility; and among the Krzyckis there was not a bachelor of suitable age. You, in this respect, would correspond to their fantasy—”
“That is well!” answered Dolhanski, “only that name! Kajetana! Kajetana! That seems to be a kind of carriage or boat! Do I know?”
Gronski and Ladislaus regarded Dolhanski’s announcement as a joke, as one of the sallies of wit which often crossed his mind. He, however, kept his word, for on the following day he proposed to Pani Otocka with due gravity and, after receiving an equally grave refusal, rode off to Gorek and settled there for a time. The young ladies, and even Pani Krzycki, were greatly amused and interested in all this, especially when the news reached them that the agrarian strike in Gorek ended the same day on which Dolhanski appeared. And it also ended a few days later in Rzeslewo, partly from the force of circumstances, from the conviction innate in the peasant soul that the “holy land” is not to be trifled with, and partly owing to the news which spread over the village that somebody from some kind of a committee was to come and decide the whole matter. Such was the case with the manor servants. The peasants and husbandmen did not want to agree to any school and would not relinquish the possession of the manor lands, but awaited this somebody in equal fear and hope, sacredly believing that not the will nor the law but some unknown power would decide everything. In the villages, in the meantime, more peaceful days ensued, and though the daily papers brought intelligence of increased commotion in the cities, Ladislaus believed that the local storm had passed away. This belief was shared by the guests. As the doctor had announced that Pani Krzycki’s departure depended upon the first signs of alleviation of her suffering, Ladislaus determined to take the best advantage he could of the brief time the young ladies were to remain in Jastrzeb. The horseback excursions began and unless prevented by rain took place every morning. They were particularly agreeable to Ladislaus because Gronski, riding leisurely, kept company with his “adoration,” while he could pass hours alone with Miss Anney. Both were expert riders; they usually dashed ahead and most frequently disappeared from view in the distance. At times, they set off at full gallop, and intoxicated themselves with the mad speed, the air, the sun, and each other. At other times they rode abreast, slowly, stirrup to stirrup, and then the silence into which they fell, anxious, full of inexpressible delight, linked them with ties yet stronger than those with which their conversation bound them. With a glance Krzycki scanned the figure of the golden-haired maiden, resembling on horseback the divine Grecian forms or those on Etruscan vases, and feasted his eyes. He listened to her voice and it seemed to him that it was music still nearer perfection than that which poured forth from Marynia’s violin. At times when he assisted her to mount her horse, he had to exert the full strength of his will to refrain from pressing her foot to his lips and forehead. And often he thought that if he ever dared to do so, he would desire to remain in that position as long as possible. To this feminine being all his thoughts were impelled, and through the might and flight of his feeling, his desires ceased to be like crawling serpents and became like winged birds, capable of soaring unto heaven. His love each day became more like a whirlpool which drags to itself and engulfs everything. It seemed to Ladislaus that the air, the sun, the fields, the forests, the meadows, the scent of the trees and flowers, the song of birds and the evening playing of Marynia, — all these were only some of the elements of that love which belonged to Miss Anney and entered into her being a
nd, without her, would be insignificant and without essence. Moreover, the whirlpool seized him and plunged him more and more deeply with a power to which each day he offered less resistance, for the simple reason that the abyss appeared to him to be the abyss of happiness. Ladislaus now did not surrender her to any Englishman “with protruding jaw” or any Scot “with bare knees,” and would not have given her up for the whole of England and Scotland. He ceased trying to persuade himself that this was a type of woman, which he might have loved and, instead, he confessed to himself sincerely that she was a woman whom he did love. Love generated in him a bright and determined will; so now he thought, with the strict logic of feeling, that he craved to win this, to him, most precious and most desired being, to take and retain her for his whole life. There was only one road leading to that: therefore he determined to enter upon it with that heedless willingness which a man, who desires to be happy, evinces. Sometimes also a confession quivered upon his lips. He restrained it however and deferred it from day to day, at first owing to a timidity which every enamoured heart feels, and again through calculation. For if Love is blind, it certainly is not so to whatever may bring it benefits. It can even weigh benefits and obstacles upon such delicate scales that in this regard it is perhaps the most cautious, the most prescient, and the shrewdest of human feelings. In fact Ladislaus observed that his mother and Miss Anney were bound by a sympathy which, on the part of youth, health, and strength was productive of a certain friendly care, and on the part of weakness and old age, of gratitude. All three ladies were solicitous about his mother, but neither the solicitude of Pani Otocka, nor that of Marynia, was so vigilant or so efficacious as the watchfulness of Miss Anney. Pani Krzycki candidly said that even Ladislaus could not move from room to room with such dexterity the armchair to which temporary disability had riveted her; that he could not anticipate and humor her wants as could this light-haired “good English diviner.”
To Krzycki, it frequently occurred that certainly this “good diviner” did all that through kindness and sincere friendship, but also because she wanted to conciliate his mother. And his heart trembled with joy at the thought that the moment would arrive when the wishes of his mother would coincide with that for which he, himself, most strongly yearned. He feared that a premature avowal might sever the ties which were being formed and for that reason he checked the word, which often burned his lips like a flame.
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 593