Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “Let him try!” cried Ladislaus, clenching his fists.

  But afterwards he asked with surprise:

  “How did he get in there, and why did they receive him?”

  “The male servants throughout the whole city are terror-stricken and the words ‘From the Party’ everywhere open the doors like the best pick-lock. But Laskowicz did not have to use even these means, as it happened that Pani Otocka’s footman was in the cellar and he was admitted by Miss Anney’s maid, who knew him from Jastrzeb and thought that he came as a good acquaintance.”

  “In any case she acquitted herself foolishly.”

  “My dear sir, what could she know about him? Of course, no one told her what he was and she saw him among us; she saw how he rode away to the city with me and that he was the tutor of the younger members of your family. That he participated in the attack upon you, also, could not have occurred to her mind, for from our side that is only a supposition which we did not confide to the ladies, in order not to disquiet them, and much less to her.”

  “Perhaps she herself is a socialist.”

  “I doubt it, for after the attempt, hearing that you were wounded, it is said she wailed so bitterly that she could be heard all over Jastrzeb; she invoked all the punishments of hades upon your would-be assassins. Miss Anney was much affected by that. I remember also that when it was rumored that the Rzeslewo people did it, she vowed to set fire to Rzeslewo. Ah, you always have luck—”

  “I do not care for such luck. But as to Laskowicz she, of course, saw during the search at Jastrzeb that they were seeking him.”

  “Well, what of it? Were you not persecuted for establishing a school? In this country all sympathy is always on the side of the fugitive. Imagine for yourself that when Miss Anney forbade her to admit Laskowicz any more, she became indignant. Evidently it seemed to her that Miss Anney did that from fear of the police.”

  “Miss Anney gave indisputable proofs that she does not fear anything.”

  “So I also do not suspect her of fear, nor Pani Otocka. But, instead, I confess to you what I fear. That madman, if he does not personally appear there, will hover about them, and what is more will write letters; all letters now travel undoubtedly through the black cabinets. If I knew where I could find him, I would warn him above all things not to dare to write any more.”

  “I will warn him of that and something else, if I can only meet him.”

  “Since he visited the ladies, he may come to see me. We had, while riding together from Jastrzeb, a discussion which he has not forgiven me.”

  “If he comes here, do you give me carte blanche?”

  “I would not think of it. Previously I had propounded to you the question whether if, as a result of a personal encounter with you, he was arrested you could take upon your soul his destruction, and you answered ‘No.’ Now I will ask you differently: If Laskowicz, tracked and pursued as a wild animal, hid in your house, would you not endeavor to hide him or assist him in escaping?”

  To this Krzycki replied in anger, but without hesitation:

  “I would help him — the dog’s blood.”

  “Ah, you see!” observed Gronski. “You curse, but admit. If they come to me for a contribution — it is all the same whether with or without Laskowicz — I will tell them that I will give for people destitute of bread but will not give for bombs, dynamite, and strike propaganda. I will tell them more: that in collecting contributions for a revolution from people who do not want to give and who give only from fear, they degrade their own citizens.”

  “Perhaps that is of import to them. The more the higher strata become cowardly, the easier it will be for them.”

  “That may be, but in such case they are the full brethren of all those who purposely and of old have debased the community.”

  And Krzycki pondered and said:

  “With us these things are often done — from above and from below.”

  Gronski glanced at him with a certain surprise as if he did not expect from his lips such a remark.

  “You are right,” he declared; “from above, a continual lowering of great ideals, from below, because at present they are being directly trampled upon.”

  “Bah! There remain yet the solid multitude of country peasantry.”

  “Again you are right,” replied Gronski. “Formerly Dabrowski’s March was the watchword for a hundred thousand, to-day it is the watchword for ten millions. Blessed be folk-lore!”

  They remained silent. Gronski for a time walked about the room, taking, according to his custom, the eyeglasses off his nose and replacing them. After which, he said:

  “Do you know what surprises me? This: that in such times and under such conditions, people can think of their private happiness and their private affairs. But nevertheless such is the law of life, which no power can suppress.”

  “Have you me in mind?”

  “In theory, I am verifying a fact which in practice even you confirm. For lo, at this moment it is as if an earthquake took place; the buildings tumble, people perish, subterranean fires burst forth and you and Miss Anney love each other and think of founding a new nest.”

  “How did you say it?” Krzycki asked with radiant countenance, “‘you love each other.’”

  “I said ‘you love each other,’ for such is the case. You, after all, are more in love than she.”

  “Certainly,” answered Ladislaus, “there is nothing strange in that; but what inference do you draw?”

  “This, which you have not heretofore either directly or indirectly asked and have not even tried to ascertain, namely, how much can Miss Anney bring to you. In a rural citizen this is proof that the thermometer shows the highest temperature of love.”

  “I give you my word, I would take her in a single dress,” answered Krzycki.

  “But you would rather she had something?”

  “I will answer sincerely that I would. There are many neighbors poorer than I am and a piece of bread will never be lacking to us. But at Jastrzeb there are three of us — counting Mother, four. I am heir of one-fourth and the unsalaried manager of the three-fourths belonging to my family and Mother. I would wish that Jastrzeb would solely belong to myself and my wife, and in succession to my children, if we have any.”

  “As to that, I have no doubt; but as to a dowry, I am not tormented by unnecessary fears,” said Gronski. “Miss Anney lives, travels, dresses, and resides in comfort, but she is not a person who would desire to create false impressions. I assume that she does not possess millions, but her fortune, particularly in comparison to our condition, may appear even more considerable than we might have thought.”

  “Let her have it or not have it,” exclaimed Krzycki, “if she only will give herself to me. Whoever possesses that jewel can be crowned with it like a king.”

  “I foresee a coronation soon,” replied Gronski, laughing.

  IX

  On account of Marynia’s birthday, Miss Anney with her maid went to buy flowers. The day before, Gronski told her that he saw in one of the stores Italian rosy lilies, such as are sold in whole bundles in the vicinity of Lucca and Pisa, but which are cultivated but little in the conservatories of Warsaw and seldom imported into the country. As Marynia had inquired about them with great curiosity. Miss Anney decided to purchase for her all that could be found in the store. The previous evening she bantered Gronski, telling him that she would forestall him in the purchase, for he, as a known sleepy-head, would be unable to leave his home early enough. Determined to play a joke upon him, she left the house at eight in the morning, so as to be present at the opening of the store. She had, besides, a letter prepared, with the words “They are already bought,” which she intended to send to Gronski by Pauly, and exulted at the thought that Gronski would receive it at his morning coffee.

  In fact everything went according to her plans, for she was the first buyer at the store. She was disappointed only in this: that there were too few lilies. There was only one flower-pot, containing
about a dozen stalks with flowers. So the decoration of Marynia’s whole room with them was out of the question. But for just this reason Miss Anney eagerly bought the one sample and, paying the price asked for it, directed that it be sent to the Otocka residence. She was annoyed, however, when informed in the store that the gardener delivering flowers could not come until noon-time, for she desired that Marynia should have them before she rose from bed.

  “In that case,” she said, turning to Pauly, “call a hack and we will take the flower-pot with us.”

  But Pauly, who, though she behaved quite indifferently and even refractorily in respect to her mistress and also to Pani Otocka, had a sort of exceptional adoration, bordering on sympathy, for Marynia, replied:

  “Let Madame permit me to carry these flowers alone. In the hack they will be shaken up and may fall off.”

  “But you are to go with the letter to Pan Gronski and, besides, you will tire yourself with the flower-pot.”

  “Pan Gronski’s residence is on the way; and what if I do tire myself a little for the golden little lady. May I not do that much for her?”

  Miss Anney understood that a refusal would cause her great vexation, therefore she said:

  “Very well. You are an honest soul. But if it should be too heavy for you, take a hack. I will go to church.”

  And she went to church to pray for Ladislaus, who was that day to leave the house for the first time and pass the evening at Pani Otocka’s, owing to Marynia’s birthday. She expected that the following day he would visit her and she wanted also to commit that day to divine protection.

  Pauline, taking the lilies, went in an opposite direction towards Gronski’s residence. After a few score of steps the flower-pot filled with earth began to grow heavy; so, shifting it from one arm to the other, she thought:

  “If it was for any one else, I would throw everything upon the ground, but she is such a bird that it is hard not to love her — I would carry for her even two such flowerpots and I would not do her any harm. — Even in case — he loved her alone.”

  And at this gloomy thought her countenance darkened yet more. In her heart, capable only of extreme feelings, began a struggle between her strange adoration for Marynia and her blind and passionate love for Krzycki; it was accompanied by the terrible and hopeless consciousness that under no circumstance could he be hers, as he was a young lord, heir, almost prince royal, and she a simple girl for sewing, setting the parlor in order, and household work. To this was added immediately a feeling of a prodigious wrong. Why, she might have been born also a “little lady” and not brought up in an orphan asylum, under the care of sisters of charity, but in a rich lordly home. Why was it not so, instead of the vile work of the servant’s station awaiting her till death?

  And here it occurred to her mind that there is now, however, a kind of people, a kind of “party,” which wants to take away property from the rich, distribute it among the poor, level all people, so that there will be no rich men and paupers, no servants and lords, no wrong of any kind in the world; and in the place thereof, all ranks will be one and the same, and liberty will be identical. She had heard of this from the servants in the house, from the craftsmen, from the salesmen in the stores to which she went to make purchases, and also through overhearing the conversations of the “gentility.” It surprised her that these people were called socialists, for heretofore a “socialist” and a madman roaming over the streets with knife in hand meant to her one and the same thing. For a time after the attack upon Krzycki, when the report was spread that the socialists did it, she even felt for them such furious and blind hatred that she was willing to poison them or bake them upon live fires. Later, when the servants in Jastrzeb began to repeat that the young heir was waylaid not by them, but by people of Rzeslewo, this hatred became extinguished. But subsequently, when the girl learned more accurately what the socialists aimed at and who they were, she was but little interested in them. She partly regarded their ideas as foolish and partly thought of other things more personal, and finally, she distinguished in Poland only “her own” and “not her own,” loving, not knowing why, the first, and hating indiscriminately all the others. It was not until the last few days that it began to dawn in her head that among her own there existed terrible and painful differences; that for some there was wealth, for others poverty; that for a few there was enjoyment and for others toil; for some, laughter, for others, tears; for some, happiness, for others, woe and injury.

  This became clear to her, particularly at that moment when with greater suffering than ever before she became aware that this young gentleman, to whom her soul and body were urged, was simply an inaccessible star, on which she was barely permitted to gaze. And although nothing had happened that day which particularly irritated her and nothing had altered, she was possessed by a despair such as she never felt before.

  But the course of her gloomy meditations was finally interrupted by an external incident. Notwithstanding the early hour, she observed on the corner of the precinct a large crowd of people, agitated by some uneasiness. Their faces were turned towards the depth of a cross street, as if something unusual was taking place there. Some rushed forward while others retreated with evident fear. Some, arguing heatedly and pointing at something with their hands, looked upwards to the roofs of the houses. From all directions flocked new crowds of workingmen and striplings. Among the hack-drivers standing on the corner an unusual commotion prevailed: the drivers, in groups of varying numbers, wheeled their horses about in different directions as though they wished to blockade the street. Suddenly shrill cries resounded and then shots. In one moment an indescribable confusion arose. The throng swung to and fro and began to scamper; the cries sounded shriller and shriller each moment. It was evident that they were pursuing somebody. The girl, with her lilies, stood as if thunderstruck, not knowing what to do. Then, suddenly from amidst the hacks, a man dashed out, bent forward with lowered head, and at full speed ran towards her. On the way he flung away his cap and snatched a hat from the head of a stripling who, understanding the situation in the twinkle of an eye, did not even quiver. The hack-drivers began yet more zealously to block the street, evidently with a view to make the pursuit more difficult. But right behind them again rattled the revolver shots, and amidst the general cries and tumult already could be heard the shrill sounds of the police whistles and the hoarse, bellowing shouts of “Catch him! catch him!” A blind, excessive fright now seized Pauly, and she began to run, squeezing unconsciously to her bosom the flower-pot with the lilies, as if she wanted to save her own child.

  But she had barely run a dozen or more steps when a panting, low voice began to cry close behind her:

  “Lady, give me the flowers! For the mercy of God, lady, give me the flowers! Save!”

  The girl turned about suddenly with consternation, and indescribable amazement was reflected in her eyes, for she recognized Laskowicz.

  He, having violently wrested from her the flower-pot, to which, not knowing what she was doing, she clung with all her strength, whispered further:

  “Perhaps they will not recognize me. I will tell them that I am a gardener. Save me, little lady! Perhaps they will not recognize. I am out of breath!”

  She wanted to run farther but he restrained her.

  In the meantime, from among the chaos of hacks, a dozen or more policemen and civil agents emerged. The majority of the mob moved at a running pace in a direction opposite to the one in which Laskowicz and the girl were going, and undoubtedly they intentionally moved that way in order to deceive the pursuers. To better hoodwink the police, cries of “Catch him!” resounded among the laborers. Some workingman began to whistle shrilly on his fingers, imitating the sound of a police whistle. Accordingly the policemen and agents plunged headlong after the dense mob. At the intersection of the streets only a few stood still, and these, after a moment’s irresolution, set off in the other direction, but they ran at full speed by the girl and the man with the light hat, carrying
flowers. Rushing ahead they seized a few workingmen, but other workingmen rescued them in a moment. Pauly and Laskowicz walked farther.

  “They missed me,” said the student. “Here no one would betray. They missed! Those flowers and another’s hat fooled them. I thank you, little lady; I thank you from my whole soul, and until my death I will never be able to sufficiently repay you.”

  But she, not having yet entirely recovered from her amazement, began to ask:

  “What happened? Where did you come from?”

  “From the roof; they pounced upon us in a printing plant. The others will get a year or two and nothing more will happen to them — but for me, there would be the halter.”

  “How did you manage to escape?”

  “When we got on the roof, I slid down the gutter-pipe. I might have broken my neck. It was not until I reached the street that they observed me. They fired shots at me, but luckily I was not hit, for the blood would have betrayed me. Whoever was alive helped me, and I was hidden by the hacks. They did not see how I changed a cap for a hat. But if it was not for my female associate it would have been all over with me.”

  “What female associate?”

  “I speak of you, little lady, thus. Amongst us such is the custom.”

  “Then do not call me that, for I am no female associate.”

  “That is a pity. But this is not the time to speak of that. Once more I thank you for the rescue, though it is for a short time.”

  “Why for a short time?”

  “Because I do not know what to do with myself, where to go, and where to hide. Every night I sleep in a different place but they are seeking for me everywhere.”