“Quarrel?” repeated the notary. “It is not I who quarrel. He has shaken up my brain, shattered my nerves, stupefied me, torn to pieces, exhausted, cleaned out, sucked, and outtalked the remnants of strength within me. From yesterday, sir, on the whole road — a continual din and roar in the ears — and after that in the hotel; to-day, since morning, and now here. No, I cannot stand it, no, I cannot!”
“Tut, tut. And who daily summons me? Who every day hangs out his tongue until it reaches the first button on his vest and orders me to examine it? Wait, sir. I will ride away and you will have to examine it yourself before a mirror.”
“Then you are really going to Volhynia? How about your patients?” asked Gronski.
“I fear that in the meantime they may get well; but it can’t be helped, I must go!”
“And for how long?”
“I do not know, but do not think very long. I am a Volhynian Mazur, from the minor nobility of that place, or as they say there of the single-manor nobles. They are mostly settled there as tenants of various petty nobles, but I have my own seat in partnership with a brother, an ex-judge, who has charge of the estate and to whom I am now riding.”
“But, of course, not because he is sick?”
“Certainly, sir; he has become insane.”
“My God! Since when?”
“Not long ago. From the time he became a ‘local rights’ man.’”
“Ah.”
“That is so. The indigent, haughty noble took a notion to pose as a landed proprietor, hankered after the society of gentlemen, and got water on the brain. A month ago I sent him two thousand primers for our impoverished shabby gentility, of whom no one thinks and who involuntarily or rather in spite of their will, are there losing their Polish spirit. And would you believe it, sir, that he sent back to me the whole package, together with a letter in which he announced that he would not distribute the primers.”
“Why?” asked Gronski, whom the narrative of the doctor began to interest.
“He wrote to me in the first place that they have decided to live and labor only for their own province and occupy themselves only with local or provincial affairs, and again they aim at some kind of synthesis of all nationalities, and thirdly they will Polonize nobody.”
“But you were only concerned about primers for the children of the petty nobility, who are Polish.”
“By them this is already styled Polonization, for it interferes with their ‘synthesis.’ We know in what that synthesis must end. May the devils take them, together with their diplomacy. But that is not enough! In the end, my ingenious brother informs me that he does not regard himself as a Pole, but only as a Volhynian with Polish culture and that this is his political position. Ah, sir, Stanczyk was wrong when he said that in Poland there are the most doctors. In Poland there are the most politicians. Every average Pole is a second Talleyrand, a second Metternich, a second Bismarck. He never participated in political life, is unacquainted with history, never passed through any schools, and never studied. That is nothing! He is by grace of God! He from nature has a pastille in his brain, of which he thinks that if he only lights it, then all the horse-flies and gnats, which suck our blood will be so hoaxed that they will cease to molest us. And every one is convinced that he alone sees clearly, that he alone has the exclusive measures, and that his diplomacy, county, local, provincial, or whatever you may call it, is a panacea. It never occurs to him, that with such county or local polities, this fatherland, as Yan Casimir said, would go into direptium gentium.”
“Sir,” said the aged notary to Gronski, pointing to the doctor, “you have pressed in him such a button, that now he will not stop talking until we shall not be able to move hand or limb.”
“That is not a button, that is a sore,” answered Gronski.
And evidently it was a sore for the doctor, as he was so absorbed that he did not hear what was said about him, and began the following dialogue with his absent brother.
“Ah! So you are not a Pole but only a Volhynian with Polish culture? Very well! Then, in the first place I will tell you that you have repudiated your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather; that you have spat upon their graves; that you have renounced your traditions, your right of existence, that you have grown smaller, that you have deserted your own people and have gone to those who do not want you, who do not invite you and who treat you with contempt; that you hang in the air and you will look prettily under such conditions in your Volhynia. Again, I will tell you that you are not yet a turncoat, since that which you are doing, you do through stupid politics which in consequence of your ignorance you regard as wise, but you have paved the way for future turncoats. Your grandson or great-grandson will renounce Polish culture. And finally, if you say that you are not a Pole, but only a Volhynian, why do you not go back farther, even as far as Darwin? You could with equal justice say that you are not a Pole, but an orang-outang or a pithecanthrope with Polish culture? What? Bah! But you still say that you do not want to Polonize any one? How can you Polonize? Whether with a whip, with prison, by religious compulsion, with school, or with a gag on the native tongue? Tell me! But, if not denying your nationality you would shine with the example of your public Polish virtues, if you would give someone your Polish hunger for liberty, your Polish ability to understand the sufferings of others, your Polish love, your Polish hope, your faith in a better future, and through these reconcile him to Poland, then would you regard such a Polonization as premature, and bad politics? But in such case, I ask you, you dunce, have you anything better to offer, and why are you staying there where you settled? You don’t know? And in the end you will not even know who you are. That I will tell you. You, Brother, are a weak character and above all have a weak head.”
Here he turned to Gronski:
“This is what I have to say to my brother and why I am riding to him. There is to be some kind of an assembly there, so I will say this, in other words, publicly.”
“If you would only go as quickly as possible,” exclaimed the notary.
And the doctor began to laugh.
“But as I have yet time, I will first attend Panna Marynia’s concert.”
“By all means,” said Gronski, “ride, sir. Poland is not only being cut from the outside by inimical scissors, but she is beginning to be rent asunder internally. Ride, sir, and tell them that publicly. Perhaps some may be found who will be frightened at their amenableness to the future.”
“I think that such will be found. For, in the main, I assume that they, or at least a majority of them, thus far feel in the old way, and only speak as they do in order to loosen, even though for a moment, the noose which presses on their throats. But in this they are mistaken. The result will be that they will be despised and trampled upon, both from above and below.”
“When are you going?”
“The assembly meets in about ten days, so I actually will stay here about a week, for I have various matters to attend to in Warsaw. In the meantime, I will visit my acquaintances, and among others Pani Otocka, and the Krzyckis. How is Krzycki?”
“As well as a fish — and he is going to marry.”
“Well, well. I will wager that it is with that beautiful Englishwoman? A pure flower!”
“Yes. But it seems that this is not an English flower, only genuinely Polish, from a village meadow.”
“For the Lord’s sake. What are you saying?”
“That is no longer any secret. Her name is Hanka Skibianka.”
Here Gronski related the whole history of Miss Anney, omitting only that Ladislaus knew her while she was Hanka.
And they listened with astonishment, while the doctor slapped his knees with his palms and cried:
“Ah! If I had known that; ah, if I had known that!”
“Well, what would have happened? asked the notary testily.
“What would have happened? I would have been in love with her not only under the ears but above. As it was, I only missed by a hair being in love
with her. Ah, lucky but undeserving Krzycki! But such is my ill-luck. Let only one catch my fancy — lackaday! either some one takes her, or she is in love with somebody else. But it cannot be helped! I must see Miss Anney and tender her my best wishes. For after all Krzycki is a good boy. Such as he will not rebuild Poland, but a good boy, nevertheless. And such a comely rascal, that he ravishes the eye. I would like to see them together. That will be a couple — what!”
“If you wish to see them, and have the time,” said Gronski, “then it will not be difficult, for we arranged yesterday at Pani Otocka’s that to-day we will all be present at the rehearsal for the concert. I can take you gentlemen to-day to the rehearsal, and afterwards, the whole party can go to breakfast.”
“Exactly,” exclaimed the notary, “that is just what I came to ask you to do. I have dropped out of the old relations and I did not know to whom to apply — well!”
Gronski glanced at his watch.
“If that is the case, all right; but we have still time. In the hall at this moment there is some kind of meeting or lecture, and such meetings usually drag beyond the designated time. After that, before they ventilate the hall and replace the chairs, a half hour will elapse. I have not omitted any rehearsal, so I know how things go.”
“And I will not omit any,” said the notary.
Nevertheless, he grew so impatient that they left too early. Before the building stood about a dozen persons, evidently waiting for those in the hall; while from within there reached them a buzzing noise, at times shouts, applause, and the sound of the stamping of feet.
“What kind of meeting is it?” asked the doctor.
“Really, I do not know,” answered Gronski. “Now we are full of that. There are political meetings, social conferences, literary lectures, and God knows what else.”
“I envy Warsaw,” exclaimed the doctor.
“There is not much to envy. At times it chances that something deserves attention, but oftener such absurdities take place that one feels ashamed.”
“Oh, they are already leaving,” observed the notary; “but why are they shouting so?”
“Let us wait; that is some kind of a brawl,” said Gronski.
In fact it evidently was a brawl, for from the roomy vestibule there rushed out on the wide stairs between ten, and twenty men, without caps or hats, who in the twinkling of an eye, formed a disorderly heap. In this heap, hands, canes, and umbrellas moved violently, and these motions were accompanied by a shrill shriek. Afterwards from the gyrating mob, shoved by tens of arms, shot out, as if from a sling, somebody, with bare head and tattered coat, who, leaping from the stairs, turned a somersault at the doctor’s feet in such a manner as almost to tumble him and the notary on the ground.
“Swidwicki!” exclaimed Gronski with astonishment.
Swidwicki rose, and shaking his fist menacingly at the crowd, which, having ejected him outdoors, was again returning to the hall, began to say with a panting voice:
“Ah, it is you! They have warmed my hide — they have warmed my hide! They have broken my ribs a little, and torn my coat. But that is nothing! I also have crooked a few straight noses and have straightened out a few crooked ones. This is the second time that this has happened to me — ouch!”
“Come with me. You cannot stay thus, with bare head and in such a coat.”
“No, no!” answered Swidwicki. “Ouch! Let me recover my breath. Hey! Messenger!”
And beckoning to a messenger, he said to him:
“Citizen! Here are two pieces of coin and a wardrobe check. Go to the vestibule and fetch me my hat and topcoat.”
“But for the Lord’s sake what happened?”
“Directly, directly,” said Swidwicki; “but let me first dress. After that we will go to some confectioner’s shop — ouch! For as soon as the meeting closes, they will begin to go out and, finding me here, they will be ready to administer a new drubbing to me and to you gentlemen to boot.”
“So that was a meeting?”
“A meeting, conference, discussion, lecture — whatever you wish. Panna Sicklawer spoke on ‘Imparting knowledge.’ On the platform sat Pan Citronenduft, Panna Bywalkiewicz, Panna Anserowicz, Panna Kostropacka, the editor Czubacki, and others. The hall was packed to suffocation. Ouch! I enjoyed myself like a king.”
“We see,” observed Gronski.
“You think not? But introduce me to these gentlemen. For I am the hero of the day.”
“Hero Swidwicki, gentlemen; Notary Dzwonkowski and Dr. Szremski,” said Gronski.
Swidwicki squeezed the palms of Gronski’s astonished companions; after which when the messenger brought the hat, cane, and top-coat he dressed himself and said:
“With this cane I would be ready to wait for them here — but for to-day I have had enough. The meeting will last twenty minutes or longer. Let us go to some confectioner’s shop, for I feel a pain in my legs and cannot stand.”
They went to a confectioner’s. Swidwicki ordered for himself one and then a second glass of cognac, after which he began to talk:
“That was an instructive meeting. Panna Sicklawer, I tell you gentlemen, is a Cicero in petticoats. When she started to impart knowledge to various meek creatures of the masculine gender and various magpies of fourteen years, of whom the audience mainly consisted, even I grew warm. The meek creatures applauded or else cried ‘shame’ when there was a talk of parents, and the magpies blushed so violently and fidgeted in their seats so much, that they seemed to sit on needles, and everything went along smoothly. Remarks were made by Pan Citronenduft, Panna Gotower and some maid, a native of far away Kars, whose name as well as I could hear it, had a Grecian or Spanish sound, — Nieodtego. The maturer portion of the auditors was also carried away by the enthusiasm, and I, though Gronski doubts it, enjoyed myself like a king. For you see, gentlemen, that I, from principle, have nothing against imparting knowledge, — nothing. Quite the reverse! Only, I am of the opinion, if an affair is to be jolly let it be really jolly. So then, after a few addresses, I rose, asked leave to speak and announced that I desired to recite a poem in honor of the gathering. They agreed to it and I received applause in advance. Then I began to declaim — indeed, not an original poem, but my own parody on the fable: ‘Once wanton little Thad.’ But this did not continue long; it appeared that my Thaddy proved himself to be so wanton, that he was too wanton, even for them. They did not like also this; that in staring at Panna Nieodtego, I closed one eye. They began to shout ‘Silence!’ ‘Fie!’ ‘Away with him! This is jeering!’ And here my ideal fable began to change into a real epic. For when in reply to the shout ‘This is jeering,’ I said, ‘Well what did you think it was?’ there was a universal roar of ‘Put him out!’ At least fifty hands grappled my shoulders and neck; a nice rumpus followed. They struck me, I struck back. Finally, they dumped me into the corridor: from the corridor on to the stairs, and into the street. The rest you gentlemen know. I repeat for the third time that I enjoyed myself like a king.”
“That to me is at least courage,” said the doctor; “it is necessary to stop such things, even by a scandal; so you did well, sir; you are a brave nationalist.”
“I, a nationalist,” exclaimed Swidwicki, “why, the day before yesterday I was thrown out of a meeting of the National Democrats. Indeed, a little more politely, but I was ejected.”
Gronski began to laugh.
“So this is your new sport?”
But with this their conversation ended as their attention was attracted by the crowd returning from the lecture. Before the window flowed a black human stream, among which were a large number of striplings, and young girls with cheeks covered with blushes.
When the stream finally passed by, there appeared after an interval the bright, vernal forms of Hanka, Marynia, and Pani Otocka, in the company of Krzycki.
VIII
Upon the so called “happiest period” in Krzycki’s life certain small shadows fell, and this for various reasons. If on the one hand his love for Han
ka grew with each day, on the other there began various petty annoyances which his mother had foreseen. They were things almost imperceptible, about which one could not pick a quarrel, but which nevertheless stung. Thus it happened that the ladies of Gorek came to Pani Krzycki to invite her to the wedding of Kajetana to Pan Dolhanski, which wedding through a special dispensation of the church was to take place in a few days. Pani Krzycki in tendering them her good wishes announced that they could also do the same to her, owing to the betrothal of her son to Miss Anney. Then both, one after the other, began to heartily embrace her, which, though apparently a sign of their good wishes, looked more like condolence, the more so as Pani Wlocek did not utter anything besides the words, “It is God’s will,” while Kajetana raised her eyes as piously as if she wanted to supplicate the Powers on high to comfort the heartbroken mother. Ladislaus laughed after their departure, but in his soul he wished that both would break their necks. When, however, a few days later it appeared that out of the entire circle of acquaintances only Hanka did not receive an invitation from these ladies, he wanted to start a brawl with Dolhanski: and his mother was barely able to restrain him with the declaration that neither she herself, nor Zosia, nor Marynia would attend the wedding. Krzycki was even angered because some of his acquaintances, in contrast to the ladies of Gorek, tendered to him their good wishes with excessive ardor, as if he had performed an heroic act. His marriage, as well as the antecedents of Hanka, became the subject of every conversation in “society.” Out in the world, great political changes could take place, bombs could explode, strikes could break out, but in the salons for a few days only Hanka was spoken of, various flabby dames, with eyes half closed, in a questioning tone, drawling through their teeth, “Anka — Skubanka — n’est ce pas?” But while the good wishes of those who tendered them to Krzycki with such excessive ardor sprang from appreciation of the heroism with which he dared to take as wife “Skubanka,” Hanka’s marriage settlement and the hope of “plucking” the millionaire in the future played an important rôle. This marriage settlement, which, agreeably with Pani Krzycki’s anticipations, was, for local conditions, quite considerable, but by no means reached the millions, grew in public opinion with almost every hour, so that it attained almost fabulous proportions, and intensified the universal curiosity to the extent that when Hanka in the company of her two young female friends together with Pani Krzycki and her fiancé appeared at the races, all the lorgnettes were directed at their carriage. The flabby dames from “high life,” gazing at her radiant countenance, sparkling with happiness and health, indeed said that they could at once surmise that “this is something a little different,” and contended that in the present days this “high life” ought to open its delicate bosom to a person possessing such means for “doing good.” As to her comeliness, however, the opinion prevailed that she was not sufficiently pretty for one to lose his head and that Krzycki was marrying for money. His defence was undertaken only by the ladies from Gorek, who, meeting now many people, made it everywhere understood that their young neighbor did not always seek merely money, and that only when he was disappointed in other fancies, did he come to the conclusion that it was better to have money than nothing.
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 610