Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  “He mistook his man,” interrupted Gronski, laughing.

  “And that he should chance upon me,” replied the doctor. “I, gentlemen, am a deist, a philosopher, but a passable Catholic. Often it happens that I assail the church just as I assail Poland whenever anything occurs which displeases me. Only if some stranger does the same thing in my presence then — a strange thing! — I have a desire to knock out his teeth. Therefore I began to defend the Church as if I never in my life crawled out of a sacristy; bah, even better, in a way as if I was a Catholic apologist. ‘If,’ I said, ‘religion is only an external form tell me just why should we abandon this form of ours, which is the most spiritualized, the most cultural, and the most beautiful. That Catholicism, with which you advise us to take our leave, has encompassed the entire West, organized society, produced European civilization, preserved learning, has founded universities, reared churches, which are masterpieces, gave us Saint Augustine, Dante, Petrarch, Saint Francis, and Saint Thomas, created the Renaissance, created Leonardo da Vinci’s; “Lord’s Supper,” Michelangelo’s “Tombs of the Medici,” Raphael’s “School of Athens” and “Disputa,” erected such temples as Saint Peter’s, not counting others scattered throughout Italy and all over Europe. That Catholicism made us partakers of the universal culture, united us with the West, imprinted a European stamp upon our Polish soul, etc., etc.’ And I talked in this strain until he interrupted me and said. ‘In this is the misfortune, that it has united you with the West.’ And I replied to that, ‘A misfortune to whom, and to whom not a misfortune? But now we will speak of your proposition of renouncing the tongue and therefore the nationality. Know, sir, that this is an empty and foolish dream. That never will take place. I proclaim and insist in advance — never! But assuming for a moment an impossible thing, that a pestilence will so blight us, that our hearts will be so debilitated that we will say to ourselves “Enough! — we can no longer be Poles!” then what? Reflect, sir, objectively, like a man who has not lost the ability to think, what could restrain us from becoming Germans? Our Slavonic extraction? But we are Slavonians, just because we are Poles. You are a people who do not know how to live and do not permit anybody else to live. So what motive would keep us with you? Is it your peace? Your welfare? Your morality? Your administration? Your science? Your learning? Your wealth? Your power? Learn to look in the eyes of reality; cultivate in yourselves the ability to reckon with it, and you will understand that by denationalizing us you labor for some one else. But I reiterate yet once more that this is only a foolish dream; that the moment of renunciation will never come and if I spoke of it, it was only to answer those things which you suggested.’

  “With this our conversation ended. They, in a yet higher degree than we, cannot endure unpleasant truths, so my dignitary changed into a decanter of iced water, and on the leave-taking merely said to me: ‘Well, you are too candid, young man, but I thank you for the child.’ A half an hour later I was at home.”

  “I can surmise what happened afterwards,” said Gronski.

  “Yes. As the thimble was removed, that same night I received an order to leave the next day by the first train.”

  “Be satisfied that it ended with that.”

  “I am satisfied. I will stay a few days in Warsaw; I will see the notary; I will attend Panna Zbyltowska’s concert. Certainly! Certainly!”

  Here he addressed Ladislaus.

  “How is your mother and your fiancée?”

  “Thank you. Mother is not badly, but will soon have to leave.”

  And desiring to hide his confusion, he began to gaze intently into the depths of the street, and after a while exclaimed:

  “But look! I see Panna Marynia with a maid-servant, and with them some third person is walking.”

  In reality about a hundred paces down the street Marynia could be seen approaching, accompanied by a maidservant, with the violin in a case. On the other side, though somewhat behind, walked a young man with a yellowish beard, who, leaning towards Marynia, appeared to speak to her in an earnest and vehement manner. She hastened her steps, turning her head aside, evidently not desiring to listen to him, while he, keeping pace with her, gesticulated violently.

  “My God! Some one is molesting her!” said the doctor.

  And all three rushed at full speed towards her.

  “Who is that? Who are you, sir?”

  And Marynia, seeing Gronski, seized his arm and trembling all over, began to cry:

  “Home! Take me home, sir!”

  Gronski understood in a moment that nothing else could be done and that it was necessary to hurry, as otherwise Marynia might be embroiled in a vulgar street row. He was certain that Ladislaus in whom was accumulated an enormous supply of spleen and irritation, with his impulsive nature, would not permit the offence of the assailant to pass unpunished. So taking the girl aside, he placed her as soon as possible in a hackney-coach, which was passing by and ordered the coachman to drive to Pani Otocka’s house.

  “There is nothing now. Everything is all right,” he said on the way, to pacify the affrighted Marynia. “From home we will send a message that there will be no rehearsal to-day, and with that it will end. It is nothing, nothing.”

  And he began to press her hand; after a while, he asked:

  “But who was that and what did he want?”

  “Pan Laskowicz,” answered Marynia. “I did not recognize him at first, but he told me who he was.”

  Gronski became distressed when he heard the name of the student, for it occurred to him that if the encounter with Ladislaus ended with the police, then the consequences for Laskowicz might prove fatal directly. But not desiring to betray his uneasiness before Marynia, and at the same time wishing to better quiet her, he spoke to her half jokingly:

  “So that was Laskowicz? Then I already know what he wanted. Ah! Ah! — Some one begins to play not only on the violin but on the soul. — Only why did you allow yourself to be so frightened?”

  “For he also threatened,” answered Marynia. “He threatened all terribly—”

  “Such bugbears only children fear.”

  “True! Especially as I am to play for the hungry; they will not do any wrong to me or any of us.”

  “Assuredly not,” confirmed Gronski.

  Conversing thus, they reached home. Gronski surrendered Marynia to Pani Otocka’s care and when, after a moment, Hanka appeared, he related to them everything which had occurred. He likewise had to quiet Pani Otocka, who, knowing of the letters, took the whole occurrence very much to heart and announced that immediately after the concert they would leave for Zalesin, and afterwards go abroad. After the lapse of a half hour he left and on the stairs met Ladislaus.

  “God be praised,” he said, “I see that it did not end with the police. Do you know that the man was Laskowicz?”

  “And it seemed so to me,” said Ladislaus with animation; “but this one had light hair. How is Marynia?”

  “She was frightened a little but now is well. Both ladies are at her side and dandle her like a little chicken. They are so occupied with her that Pani Otocka certainly will not receive you.”

  “And I thought so; especially, if she is there,” answered Ladislaus, with bitterness; “so I will only leave my card and will return at once. Do you care to wait for me?”

  “Very well.”

  Accordingly, he returned after a while, and when they were on the street, he began to say:

  “Yes! and to me it seemed that he was Laskowicz but I was puzzled by the light tuft of hair on his head and the spectacles. After all there was no time for thinking.”

  “Listen — you undoubtedly cudgelled him?” asked Gronski.

  And Ladislaus answered reluctantly:

  “Far too much, for he is an emaciated creature, and he evidently did not have a revolver.”

  For some time they walked in silence; after which Gronski said:

  “Your mother needs a cure; the ladies will depart from here immediately after the con
cert and Miss Anney undoubtedly with them. I would advise you also to think about yourself.”

  Ladislaus waved his hand.

  At the same time in a garret in the quarters of the “female associate,” Laskowicz said to Pauly:

  “Pan Krzycki is a true gentleman. He battered me a while ago because I dared to approach her.”

  And he began to laugh through his set teeth.

  XIV

  The day of the concert arrived. On the sofa in the sisters’ dressing-room lay, ready at an early hour, Marynia’s evening dress, white as snow, light as foam, transparent as the mist, and fragrant with violets which were to form her sole adornment. Previously, Pani Otocka and Gronski held a long and grave consultation over that dress, for both craved warmly that their beloved “divinity” should captivate not only the ears but the eyes. In the meanwhile the “divinity” bustled about all the rooms, now seizing the violin and repeating the more difficult passages, now taking the boxes of bon-bons which Gronski had sent to her; then joking with her sister and predicting fright at her first public appearance. This fright also possessed Pani Otocka who consoled herself only with the thought that Marynia indeed would tremble upon entering on the stage, but from the moment she began to play would forget everything. She knew also that a warm ovation awaited the beloved violinist, likewise numerous baskets of flowers, from the “Committee for aiding the hungry,” and from acquaintances. Notwithstanding their uneasiness both sisters felt a great joy in their souls, as the concert, owing to the arrivals during the racing season, promised to be highly successful, and it was already known that the receipts would be extraordinary. Marynia besides found a cure for her fright: “When I think,” she said to her sister, “that so many eyes will gaze at me, my heart is in my mouth, but when I recollect that I am not concerned but only the poor, then I cease to fear. So I will save myself in this manner: entering upon the stage, I will repeat quietly, ‘’Tis for the poor! ’tis for the poor!’ and everything will come off in the best possible way!” And when she spoke, her voice quivered with honest emotion as her young heart felt deeply the woes of the unfortunate who did not have any bread, and at the same time she felt proud and happy at the thought that she would be instrumental in their relief. She even experienced certain pangs of conscience on account of the new dress and the new satin shoes, as it occurred to her that this outlay might have been expended for bread.

  About noon Hanka came and took both sisters to her apartments for breakfast. Gronski, who was invited, did not appear, as at that time he was to meet a few journalists. Marynia took her violin with her with the intention of playing after the breakfast the first part of the programme, and in the meanwhile, waiting before they were seated at table, she began to look out from Hanka’s salon through the open window on the street.

  The day was fair and clear. During the night an abundant rain had fallen which settled the dust, washed the city’s stone pavements, refreshed the grass plots, and laved the leaves on the trees. The air became fresh and bracing. From the two acacias, growing under the windows of Hanka’s residence, which strewed the walk near them with petals white as snow, came a sweet scent, strong and intoxicating as if from a censer. Marynia partly closed her eyes and, moving her delicate nostrils, sated herself with the perfume with delight, after which she turned to the depth of the room.

  “It smells so sweet,” she said.

  “It does, little kitten,” answered Hanka, interrupting a conversation with Pani Otocka. “I purposely ordered the window to be opened.”

  And the acacias not only smelt sweet but seemed to sing, for both were cumbered by a countless diet of sparrows so that the leaves and flowers quivered from their chirping.

  The maiden watched for some time with delighted eyes the small, nimble birds; after which her attention was directed to something entirely different. On the walk before the house, in the middle of the street and on the sidewalk on the opposite side, there began to gather and stand clusters of people who, raising their heads, gazed intently at the windows of Hanka’s residence.

  Some wretchedly dressed people spoke with the doorkeeper standing at the gate, evidently questioning him about something. The clusters each moment became more numerous and, together with the passers-by, who remained out of curiosity, changed into a mob of several hundred heads. Marynia jumped back from the window.

  “Look,” she cried, “what is taking place on the street. Oh! oh! Perhaps they are the poor coming to thank me in advance? What shall I do if they come here? what shall I answer? I am not able. — Come, see!”

  And saying this, she drew her sister and Hanka to the window. The three young heads leaned out of the window on to the street, but in that moment an incomprehensible thing happened. A ragged stripling pulled out of his pocket a stone and hurled it with all his strength into the open window. The stone flew over Pani Otocka’s head, rebounded on the opposite wall, and fell with noise upon the floor. Hanka, Marynia, and Zosia drew back from the window and began to look at each other with inquiring and startled eyes.

  In the meantime on the street resounded savage outcries; the rabble battered down the gate; on the stairs sounded the stamping of feet, after which in the twinkling of an eye the doors leading to the room burst open with a crash, and a mob, composed of Christians and some Jews, filled the residence.

  “Away with the kept mistress! Strike! tear! smash!” howled hoarse voices.

  “For the mercy of God! People, what do you want here?” cried Hanka.

  “Away with the kept mistress! away with the kept mistress! through the window! on to the street!”

  In a moment a young man-servant, who rushed to the assistance of the ladies, was thrown upon the ground and trampled upon. Amidst the dreadful commotion, which the mob increased more and more, the human beasts became unfettered. Women with disheveled hair, filthy striplings with the marks of crime upon their degenerate features, and all manner of ragamuffins with drunken faces, rushed at the furniture, divans, bed curtains, and everything which fell into their hands. In the residence an orgy of destruction prevailed. The rooms were filled with the stench of sweat and whiskey. The mob became infuriated; it broke, smashed, stole. On the street, under the windows piles of splintered furniture were formed. They threw out even the piano. Finally some ruffian, with a pock-marked visage, seized Marynia’s violin and brandished it, desiring to shatter it on the wall.

  But she jumped to its aid and seized his fist with both hands.

  “That is mine! that is mine! — I am to play for the poor—”

  “Let go!”

  “I will not let go! — that is mine!”

  “Let go, carrion!”

  “That is mine!”

  A shot was fired, and, simultaneously, Pani Otocka’s scream pierced the air. Marynia stood for a moment with upraised hands and head inclined backwards; afterwards she reeled and fell back into Hanka’s arms.

  The shot and the murder overawed the crowd. The mob became silent, and after a moment began to scamper away, panic-stricken.

  XV

  Pani Krzycki, Zosia, and Hanka, and with them Gronski, Ladislaus, and Dr. Szremski surrounded the bed on which Marynia lay, after the operation and the extraction of the bullet. A second surgeon and his assistant sat aloof, awaiting the awakening of the patient. In the room, filled with the odor of iodoform, a profound stillness prevailed. Marynia had previously awoke immediately after the operation was performed, but stupefied still by the chloroform and weakened by the loss of blood, she soon sank again into a slumber. Her beautiful head lay motionless upon the pillow, her eyes were closed, and her countenance was waxen and transparent, as if she were already dead. In Pani Otocka and in Gronski, who but now sounded within himself the immensity of his affection for that child, despair whimpered with that quiet, terrible whimper, which lacerates, tugs and rends the bosom but fears to emerge on the surface. Both glanced time and again with alarm at Dr. Szremski who from time to time examined Marynia’s pulse, but evidently he himself
was uncertain whether that sleep would be final: he only nodded his head and placed his finger to his lips in sign of silence.

  Nevertheless, their fears for the time being were vain, as after the lapse of an hour Marynia’s eyebrows commenced to rise, quiver, and after a moment she opened her eyes. Her look, at the beginning, was dull and unconscious. Slowly, however, the stupefaction left her and consciousness of what had occurred as well as of the present moment returned. On her countenance appeared an expression of amazement and affliction, such as a child feels who has been punished cruelly and unjustly. Finally her pupils darkened and two tears coursed down her cheeks.