Ladislaus decided with all possible coolness to ask Miss Anney whom England had now subjugated and whether the newspapers had made any mention of it, but when Miss Anney and the doctor at the conclusion of their tête-à-tête had rejoined the rest of the company, he changed his plan and, with the offended dignity of a schoolboy who is ready not only to spite those dear to him but also himself, he determined to cover himself with the cloak of indifference. With this view he turned to Zosia and began to inquire about the Zalesin estate and begged her permission to inspect it; and she told him that it would give her great pleasure. He thanked her so warmly that his mother was led into an error. Miss Anney tried several times to participate in the conversation, but receiving from him indifferent replies, surprised and slightly touched, began to listen to what Gronski was saying.
After supper the doctor announced that he would have to leave. For a while he spoke with Gronski, and then took his leave of the ladies, repeating, “Until to-morrow; at the railway station.” He advised Ladislaus to return immediately to his room and secure a good rest before proceeding on his journey. Gronski, after escorting the doctor to the gate, accompanied Ladislaus to his room, and when they found themselves alone, perceiving his mien and easily surmising the cause asked: “What ails you? You are so agreeable.”
And Krzycki answered with some irritation: “I am still feeling weak; otherwise I am as usual.”
But Gronski shrugged his shoulders.
“These,” said he, “are the usual misunderstandings of lovers, but you, above all, are a child and caused her unpleasantness. And do you know what for? Simply because she urged Szremski to accompany you to Warsaw.”
Ladislaus’ heart quivered, but he put a good face on a bad matter and would not yet be reconciled.
“I do not feel at all weak and can get along without his assistance.”
To this Gronski replied:
“Good-night to you and your logic.”
And he left the room.
But Ladislaus when he was undressed and in bed, suddenly felt tears welling in his eyes and began with extraordinary tenderness to beg pardon of — the pillow.
VI
Gronski, who by nature was very obliging and devoted to his friends, was at the same time a man of ample means and high culture; in consequence of which Ladislaus found in his home not only such care as sincere good will alone can bestow, and comforts, but also various things which were lacking in Jastrzeb. He found, especially, books, a few paintings, engravings, and various small objects of vertu; moreover, the residence was spacious, well-ventilated, and not over-crowded with unnecessary articles. Thanks to the host a highly intellectual and esthetic atmosphere prevailed, in which the young heir felt indeed smaller and less self-confident than in Jastrzeb, but which he breathed with pleasure. He was seized, however, with a fear that by a lengthy stay he would cause his older friend trouble, and on the following evening he began to argue with Gronski about going to a hotel.
“Even the doctor considers me well,” he said. “The best proof of it is that he permits me to go about the city in three days.”
“I heard something about five,” answered Gronski.
“But that was yesterday; so, not counting to-day, three remain. You have your habits which you must not change on my account. It is indeed a pleasure to look at all these things; so I will come here, but it is one thing to visit you for an hour, or even two, and another to introduce confusion into your mode of life.”
“I will only say this,” answered Gronski, “Pani Otocka and Panna Marynia regard me as an old bachelor and promised to make a call to-morrow, or the day after, as they have often done before, in the company of Miss Anney. Do you see that armchair? On it, during the music-playing, sat your light-haired beauty. Go, go to the hotel, and we will see who, besides your mother, will visit you.”
“You are too good.”
“I am an old egotist. You see that I have a few old household effects, which, during the course of my life, I have collected; but one thing, though I were as rich as Morgan and Jay Gould combined, I can unfortunately never buy, and that is youth. And you have so much of it that you could establish a bank and issue stock. From you rays plainly emanate. Let them illuminate and warm me a little. In other words, do not worry, and keep quiet if you are comfortable here with me.”
“I only do not desire to be spoiled by too much attention, for, speaking sincerely, I feel I am strong enough now.”
“So much the better. Thank God, Miss Anney, and the doctor that the journey did not injure you. That is what I feared a little.”
“It did not hurt me, neither did it help.”
“How is that?”
“Because I had a hope that on the road I could tell my bright queen that which I hid in my soul, but in the meantime it developed that this was a foolish hope. We sat in the compartment like herrings. The doctor hung over me continually, like a hangman over a good soul, and there was not a chance, even for a moment.”
“Never, never make any avowals in a railway car, for in the rumble and noise the most pathetic passages are lost. Finally, as Laskowicz has not dispatched you to the other world, you will easily find an opportunity.”
“Do you really think that it was the work of Laskowicz?”
“No. But if ever I should ascertain that it was he, I would not be much surprised; for such a situation, in which one could gratify self and serve a good cause, occurs rarely.”
“How gratify self and serve a good cause?”
“Good in his judgment. Do you not live from human sweat and blood?”
“That is very true. But why should my death afford him any gratification personally?”
“Because he has conceived a hatred for you; has fallen in love with some one and regards you as a rival.”
Hearing this, Ladislaus jumped up as if scalded.
“What, would he dare?”
“I assure you that he would dare,” replied Gronski quietly, “only he made a mistake. But that he is not wanting in courage he gave proofs when he wrote an avowal of love to Marynia.”
Ladislaus opened wide his eyes and began to wink:
“What was that?”
“I did not want to speak to you about it in Jastrzeb, as at that time you often drove to the city. I feared that you might meet him and might start a disagreeable brawl. But at present I can tell you every thing; Laskowicz has fallen in love with Marynia and wrote a letter to her, which of course remained unanswered.”
“And he thought that I also am in love with Marynia.”
“Permit me; that would not be anything extraordinary. He might have overheard something. Whoever is in love usually imagines that every one is reaching after the object of his love. Understand that Laskowicz did not confide in me, but that is my hypothesis which, if it is erroneous, so much the better for Laskowicz. The party sent you a death sentence in consequence of his reports and this was working in his hand for personal reasons. After all, he may not have participated personally in the attempt—”
“Did you see him after that letter?”
“How could I see him, since he wrote after his departure. But it was lucky that I advised Pani Otocka to burn that lucubration, for if the letter had been found during the search at Jastrzeb, you can readily understand what inferences the acuteness of the police might have drawn.”
Anger glittered in Ladislaus’ eyes.
“I prefer that Miss Anney be not involved,” he said; “nevertheless I would not advise Laskowicz to meet me. That such a baboon, as Dolhanski says, should dare to lift his eyes to our female relative in our home and, in addition thereto, write to her — this I regard plainly as an insult which I cannot forgive.”
“In all probability you will never meet him; so you will not move a finger.”
“I? Then you do not know me. Why not?”
“Among other reasons, out of consideration for our pleasant situation. Consider; duels they will not accept and in this they are right. What then?
Will you cudgel him with a cane or pull his ears?”
“That is quite possible.”
“Wait! In the first place there was nothing in the letter resembling an insult and, again, what further? The police would take you both into custody, and there they would discover that they had caught Laskowicz, a revolutionary bird, whom they have been seeking for a long time and would send him to Siberia, or even hang him. Can you take anything like that upon your conscience?”
“May the deuce take these times,” cried Ladislaus. “A man is always in a situation from which there is no escape.”
“As is usual between two anarchies,” answered Gronski. “After all, this is a slight illustration.”
Further conversation was stopped by the entrance of a servant who handed to Gronski a visiting card and he, glancing at it, said:
“Ask him to step in.”
Afterwards he asked Ladislaus:
“Do you know Swidwicki?”
“I have heard the name, but am not acquainted with the man.”
“He is a relative of Pani Otocka’s deceased husband. A very peculiar figure.”
At that moment Swidwicki entered the room. He was a man of forty years, bald, tall, lean, with an intelligent and sour face, and at the same time impudent. He was attired carelessly in a suit which appeared to fit him too loosely. He had, however, something which betrayed his connection with the higher social spheres.
“How is Swidwa?” Gronski began.
After which he introduced him to Ladislaus and continued:
“What has happened to you? I have not seen you for an age.”
“Why, you were out of the city.”
“Yes; but before that time you did not show up for a month.”
“In my old age I have become an anchorite.”
“Why?”
“Because I am wearied by the folly of men who pass for reasonable beings and by the malice of men who pose as good. Finally, I now roam all over the streets from morning until night. Ah! There exist ‘Attic Nights,’ ‘Florentine Nights,’ and I have a desire to write about ‘Warsaw Days.’ Delightful days! Titles of the separate chapters ‘Hands up! The Rabble on Top.’ ‘Away with the Geese.’ Do you know that at this moment there are so many troops patrolling the streets that any one else in my place would have been arrested ten times.”
“I know, but how do you manage to avoid it?”
“I walk everywhere as peacefully as if in my own rooms. The way I do it is simple. As often as I am not drunk, I pretend to be drunk. You would not believe what sympathy and respect an intoxicated person commands. And in my opinion this is but just, for whoever is ‘under the influence’ from morning till night is innocent and well thinking; upon him the so-called social order can rely with confidence.”
“Surely. But the social order which depended upon such people would not stand upon steady legs.”
“Who, to-day, does stand on steady legs? Doctrines intoxicate more than alcohol — therefore at this moment all are drunk. The empire is staggering, the revolution is reeling, the parties are floundering, and a third person stands on the side and looks on. Soon all will tumble to the ground. Then there will be order, and may it come as soon as possible.”
“You ought to be that third person.”
“The third person is the German and we are fools. We begin by falling to loggerheads, and have reached such a state that the only salvation for our social soul would be a decent civil war.”
Here he became silent and after a while turned to Ladislaus.
“I see that your eyes are wide open, but nevertheless it is so. A civil war is a superb thing. Nothing like it to clarify the situation and purify the atmosphere. But to be led to such a situation and not to be able to create it is the acme of misfortune or folly.”
“I confess that I do not understand,” said Ladislaus.
Gronski motioned with his hand and remarked:
“Do not attempt to, for after every fifteen minutes of conversation you will not know what is black and what is white and your head will swim, or you will get a fever, which as a wounded man you should try to avoid.”
“True,” said Swidwicki, “I had heard and even read in some newspaper of the occurrence and paid close attention to it because in your home Pan Gronski and Pani Otocka with her sister were being entertained. I am a relative of the late aged Otocka. Those women must have been scared. But if they think that they are safer here in the city they are mistaken.”
“Judging from what can be seen, it is really no safer here. Have you seen those ladies yet?”
“No, I do not like to go there.”
At this, Ladislaus, who by nature was impetuous and bold, frowned, and looking Swidwicki in the eyes, replied:
“I do not ask the reason, for that does not interest me, but I give you warning that they are my relatives.”
“Whose cause a young knight would have to champion,” answered Swidwicki, gazing at Ladislaus. “Ah, no! If I had any intention of saying anything against the ladies I would not say it, as Gronski would throw me down the stairs and I have a favor to ask of him. What I said is the highest praise for them and simply gall and wormwood for me.”
“Beg pardon, again; I do not understand.”
“For you see that for the average Pole to have respect for any one and not to be able to sharpen his teeth upon him is always annoying. I cannot speak of the ladies as I would wish, that is, disparagingly. I cannot endure ideal women; besides that, whenever it happens that I pass an evening with them, I become a more decent man and that is a luxury which in these times we cannot afford.”
Ladislaus began to laugh and Gronski said:
“I told you that surely your head would swim.”
After which to Swidwicki:
“If he should get any worse, I will induce him to send the doctor’s and apothecary’s bill to you.”
“If that is the case, I will go,” answered Swidwicki, “but you had better come with me into another room for I have some business with you which I prefer to discuss without witnesses.”
And, taking leave of Ladislaus, he stepped out. Gronski accompanied him to the ante-room and after a while returned, shrugging his shoulders:
“What a strange gentleman,” said Ladislaus. “I hope I am not indiscreet, but did he want to borrow any money from you?”
“Worse,” answered Gronski. “This time it was a few Falk engravings. I positively refused as he most frequently returns money or rather he lets you take it out of his annuity, but books, engravings, and such things he never gives back.”
“Is he making a collection?”
“On the contrary he throws or gives them away; loans or destroys them. Do I know? You will now have an opportunity of meeting him oftener, for though I refused to loan them, I permitted him to come here to look over and study them. He undoubtedly is writing a book about Falk.”
“Ah, so he is a literary man.”
“He might have been one. As you will meet him, I must warn you a little against him. I will describe him briefly. He is a man to whom the Lord gave a good name, a large estate, good looks, great ability, and a good heart, and he has succeeded in wasting them all.”
“Even a good heart?”
“Inasmuch as he is a rather pernicious person, it is better that he does not write. For you see that it may happen that somebody’s brains decay, just as with people, sick with consumption, their lungs decay. But no one has the right to feed the nation with the putrefaction of his lungs or his brains. And there are many like him. He does not act for the public weal but merely for his own private affairs. Do you know how he accounts for not accomplishing anything in his life? In this way: that to do so one must believe and to believe it is necessary to have a certain amount of stupidity which he does not possess. I am not speaking now of religious matters. He simply does not believe that anything can be true or false, just or unjust, good or bad. But Balzac wisely says: ‘Qui dit doute, dit impuissance.’ Swidwicki is irritate
d and filled with bitterness by the fact that he is not anything; therefore he saves himself by paradoxes and turns intellectual somersaults. I once saw a clown who amused the public by giving his cap various strange and ridiculous shapes. Swidwicki does the same with truth and logic. He is also a clown, but an embittered and spiteful one. For this reason he always holds an opinion opposite to that of the person with whom he is speaking. This happens particularly when he is drunk, and he gets drunk every night. Then to a patriot he will say that fatherland is folly; in the presence of a believer he will scoff at faith; to a conservative he will say that only anarchy and revolution are worth anything; to the socialist that the proletariat have ‘snouts.’ I have heard how he thus expressed himself, and only for this reason, that he, ‘a superman,’ might have something to hit at when the notion seizes him. And thus it is always. In discussion he shines with paradoxes, but sometimes it chances that he says something striking because in all criticism there is some justice. If you wish, I will arrange such a spectacle, though for me he has a certain regard, firstly, because he likes me, and again because I have rendered him a few services in life. He promised to repay me with black ingratitude, but in the meantime he does not molest me with such energy as the others.”
“And no one has yet broken his bones,” observed Ladislaus.
“He does not, in the least, retreat from that. He himself seeks trouble and there is not a year in which he does not provoke some encounter.”
“In the taverns?”
“Not only there. For belonging by name and family connections to the so called higher walks of life, he has many acquaintances there. Two years ago, indeed, the artists gave him a good cudgelling in a tavern; and, for instance, Dolhanski (their dislike is mutual) shot him last spring in a duel.”
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 599