Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

  Yosef accepted Gustav’s offer, and in a few moments they were in the narrow lodgings of the student.

  “Ei, it is long since we have seen each other. We finished our school course a year ago,” said Gustav, putting aside Yosef’s small trunk and bundle. “A year is some time. What hast thou done this whole year?”

  “I have been with my father, who would not let me come to the University.”

  “What harm could that be to him?”

  “He was a good man, though ignorant — a blacksmith.”

  “But he has let thee come now?”

  “He died.”

  “He did well,” said Gustav, coughing. “The cursed asthma is tormenting me these six months. Dost wonder at my hard breathing? Thou too wilt breathe hard when thou hast bent over books as I have. Day after day without rest for a moment. And fight with poverty as one dog with another. — Hast money?”

  “I have. I sold the house and property left by my father. I have two thousand rubles.”

  “Splendid! For thee that will be plenty. My position is poverty! Oh the cursed asthma! Oi! that is true. One must learn. Barely a little rest in the evening; the day at lectures, the night at work. Not time enough for sleep. That is the way with us. When thou enterest our life, thou wilt see what a University is. To-day I will take thee to the club, or simply to the restaurant; thou must learn to know our students immediately. Today, right away thou wilt go with me.”

  Gustav circled about the room without intermission; he panted and coughed. To look at his bent shoulders, sunken visage, and long hair, one might have taken him rather for a man tortured by joyous life than by labor; but the printed volumes and manuscripts in piles, the poverty in the furnishing of the room, gave more proof than was needed to show that the occupant belonged to that species of night birds who wither away while bent over books, and die thinking whether a certain syllable should or should not be accented.

  But Yosef breathed the atmosphere of the chamber with full breast; for him that was a world at once new and peculiar. “Who knows,” thought he, “what ideas are flashing through the heads of dwellers in fourth and fifth stories? Who knows what a future those garrets are preparing for science?”

  “Thou wilt make the acquaintance to-day of many of our fellows,” said Gustav, drawing out from beneath his bed a one-legged samovar and putting a broken dish under it in place of the two other legs. “But let not this evening offend thee,” continued the student, as he let charcoal drop into the samovar. “I will make tea. Let not heads partly crazy offend thee. When thou hast looked round about at the city, thou wilt discover that there is no lack of fools here as in other places; but it moves forward with no laggard steps. There is no lack among us of originals, though there is much that is empty and colorless. This last is ridiculous, and the dullest of all the stupidities. In some heads there are blazes of light, in other heads darkness like that out of doors at this moment.”

  Silence reigned for a time in the chamber; there was no noise there save that made by Gustav while puffing and blowing at the samovar. In fact, night had been coming gradually, on the walls and ceiling of the room an increasing darkness was falling; the fiery circle reflected from the samovar widened or narrowed as Gustav blew or stopped blowing. At last the water began to sound, to hiss, to sputter. Gustav lighted a candle.

  “Here is tea for thee. I will go now to the lecture,” continued he; “wait thou here, or better sleep on my bed. When thy time to pay money comes, thou wilt have also to look after lectures. The work is dreary, but there is no escape from it. Student life has its bitter side, but why mention this in advance? Our student world and the rest of society are entirely separate. People here neither like nor receive us, and we quarrel with all persons, even with one another. Oh, life here is difficult! If thou fall ill, no man, who is not a student, will reach a hand to thee. This is the fate of us poor fellows; moreover people are angry because we play no comedies, we call things by their names.”

  “Thou seest objects in black,” remarked Yosef.

  “Black or not black,” answered Gustav, with bitterness, “thou wilt see. But I tell thee that thou wilt not rest on roses. Youth has both rights and demands. They will laugh in thy eyes at these rights, these demands; they will say that thou art not cooked enough, they will call thy wants exaltation. But devil take it, the name matters little if the thing it describes hurts or pains thee. As to that thou wilt see. — Pour tea for thyself, and lie down to rest. I shall be here in an hour; and now give me that hat, and good-by!”

  For a while the panting, puffing, and steps of Gustav were heard on the stairway. Yosef was alone.

  Those words of Gustav impressed his friend strangely. Yosef remembered him as different. To-day a certain disappointment and peevishness were heard in his voice, mental gloom of a certain kind broke through those words half interrupted, half sad. Formerly he had been healthy in mind and in body; to-day his breathing was difficult, in his movements and speech appeared wonderful feverishness, like that of a man who is exhausted.

  “Has life tortured him that much already?” thought Yosef. “Then one must struggle here, go against the current somewhat; but this poor fellow had not the strength, it seems. A man must conquer in this place. It is clear that the world does not lay an over-light hand on us. Devil take it! the question is no easy one. Gustav is in some sort too misanthropic; he must exaggerate rather easily. But he is no idler and must go forward. Perhaps this is only a mask, the misanthropy, under which he finds his position more convenient and safer. But really, if one must take things by storm or perish? Ha, then I will go through!” exclaimed the young man, with strength, though in this interjection there was more resolution than passion.

  An hour after this monologue panting was heard on the stairway a second time, and Gustav entered, or rather pushed in.

  “Now follow!” cried he. “Thou art about to enter the vortex of student life; today thou wilt see its gladder aspect. But lose no time!”

  While speaking, he turned his cap in his hand, and cast his eyes on every side; finally he went to a small table, and taking a comb began to arrange his long yellow, or rather his long faded hair.

  At last they went out to the street.

  At that time in Kieff there were restaurants where students assembled. Circumstances were such that it was not possible to live with the city society. Those various city circles were unwilling to receive young persons whom the future alone was to form into people. On the student side lack of steadiness, violence of speech, insolence, and other native traits usual to youth were not very willing to bend themselves to social requirements; as to the country, that furnished its social contingent only in winter, or during the time of the contracts. So the University was a body entirely confined to itself, living a life of books in the day, and leading a club life at night. For many reasons there was more good in this than evil, for though young men went into the world without polish, they had energy and were capable of action. Wearied and worn-out individuals were not found among them.

  Our acquaintances passed through the street quickly, and turned toward the gleaming windows of a restaurant. Under the light of the moon it was possible to distinguish the broad, strong figure of Yosef near the bent shoulders and large head of Gustav. The latter hurried on in advance somewhat, conversing with Yosef or with himself; at last he halted under a window, seized the sill, and drawing himself up examined the interior carefully. Finally he dropped down, and said, while wiping off whitewash from his knees, —

  “She is not there.”

  “Who is not there?”

  “Either she has been there or she will not come.”

  “Who is she?”

  “What o’clock is it?”

  “Ten o’clock. Whom art thou looking for through the window?”

  “The widow.”

  “The widow? Who is she?”

  “I fear that she is sick.”

  “Is she thy acquaintance?”

  “Evidentl
y. If I did not know her I should not be occupied with her.”

  “Well, that is clear,” answered Yosef. “Let us go in.”

  He raised the door-latch; they entered.

  A smoky, hot atmosphere surrounded them. At some distance in the hall faces of various ages were visible. Amid clouds of smoke, which dimmed the light of the wall lamps, and outbursts of laughter, wandered the tones of a piano, as if wearied and indifferent. The piano was accompanied by a guitar, on which thrummed at intervals a tall, slender youth, with hair cut close to his skull and with scars on his face. He played with long fingers on the strings carelessly, fixed his great blue eyes on the ceiling, and was lost in meditation.

  The person sitting at the piano had barely grown out of childhood. He had a milk-white complexion, dark hair combed toward the back of his head, sweetness on his red lips, and melancholy in his eyes. He was delicate, of a slight build of body, and good looking. It was evident that he had played a long time, for red spots on both cheeks showed great weariness.

  With their backs to the light stood a number of men from the Pinsk region, all strong as oaks, and at the same time so eager for music of every sort given in the restaurant that they formed a circle around the player, drooped their heads, and listened with sighs or delight.

  Other young fellows were on benches or in armchairs; a few tender girls, of the grasshopper order who sing away a summer, circled here and there. It was noisy; goblets clinked in places. In the room next the hall some were playing cards madly, and through a half-open door the face of one player was visible. Just then he was lighting a cigar at a candle standing on the corner of a table, and the flame either smothered or rising for an instant shone on his sharply cut features.

  The woman at the refreshment counter examined near the light, with perfect indifference, the point of the pen with which she entered down daily sales; at her side, leaning on a table, slumbered her assistant in wondrous oblivion. A cat sitting on a corner of the counter opened his eyes at moments, and then closed them with an expression of philosophic calm and dignity.

  Yosef cast a glance around the assembly.

  “Ho! How art thou, Yosef?” called a number of voices.

  “I am well. How are ye?”

  “Hast come for good?”

  “For good.”

  “I present him as a member of this respected society. Do thou on thy part know once for all the duty of coming here daily, and the privilege of never sleeping in human fashion,” said Gustav.

  “As a member? So much the better! Soon thou wilt hear a speech. — Hei, there, Augustinovich, begin!”

  From that room of card-players came a young man with stooping shoulders and a head almost bald, ugly in appearance. He threw his cap on a table, and sitting in an armchair began, —

  “Gentlemen! If ye will not remain quiet, I shall begin to speak learnedly, and I know, my dear fellows, that for you there is nothing on earth so offensive as learned discourses. In Jove’s name! Silence, I say, silence! I shall begin to discourse learnedly.”

  Indeed, under the influence of the threat silence reigned for a season. The speaker looked around in triumph, and continued, —

  “Gentlemen! If we have met here, we have met to seek in rest itself the remembrance of bitter moments. [“Very well.”] Some one will say that we meet here every night. [“Very well.”] I come here nightly, and I do not dream of denying it; I do not deny, either, that I am here on this occasion! [Applause; the speaker brightens and continues.] Silence! Were I forced to conclude that every effort of mine which is directed toward giving a practical turn to our meetings is shattered by general frivolousness, for I can call it general [“You can, you can!”], not directed by the current of universal agreement which breaks up in its very beginning [“Consider, gentlemen, in its very beginning”] the uniform efforts of individuals — if efforts marked by the regular object of uniting disconnected thoughts into some organic whole, will never issue from the region of imagination to the more real field of action, then, gentlemen, I am the first, and I say that there are many others with me who will agree to oppose the sense of the methods of our existence so far [Applause], and will take other methods [“Yes, yes!”] obliging, if not all, at least the chosen ones [Applause].”

  “What does this mean?” asked Yosef.

  “A speech,” answered Gustav, shrugging his shoulders.

  “With what object?”

  “But how does that concern any one?”

  “What kind of person is he?”

  “His name is Augustinovich. He has a good head, but at this moment he is drunk, his words are confused. He knows, however, what he wants, and, as God lives, he is right.”

  “What does he want?”

  “That we should not meet here in vain, that our meetings should have some object. But those present laugh at the object and the speech. Of necessity the change would bring dissension into the freedom and repose which thus far have reigned in these meetings.”

  “And what object does Augustinovich wish to give them?”

  “Literary, scientific.”

  “That would be well.”

  “I have told him that he is right. If some one else were to make the proposal, the thing would pass, perhaps.”

  “Well, but in his case.”

  “On everything that he touches he leaves traces of his own ridiculousness and humiliation. Have a care, Yosef! Thou in truth art not like him in anything so far as I know, but here any man’s feet may slip, if not in one, in another way.”

  Gustav looked with misty eyes on Augustinovich, shrugged his shoulders, and continued, —

  “Fate fixed itself wonderfully on that man. I tell thee that he is a collection of all the capacities, but he has little character. He has lofty desires, but his deeds are insignificant, an eternal dissension. There is no balance between his desires and his strength, hence he attains no result.”

  A number of Yosef’s acquaintances approached; at the glass conversation grew general. Yosef inquired about the University.

  “Do all the students live together?”

  “Impossible,” answered one of the Lithuanians. “There are people here of all the most varied conceptions, hence there are various coteries.”

  “That is bad.”

  “Not true! I admit unity as to certain higher objects; the unity of life in common is impossible, so there is no use in striving for it.”

  “But the German Universities?”

  “In those are societies which live in themselves only. A life of feelings and thoughts, at least among us, should agree with practice; therefore dissension in feelings and thoughts produces dissension in practice.”

  “Then will you never unite?”

  “That, again, is something different. We shall unite in the interest of the University, or in that which concerns all. For that matter, I think that the contradictions which appear prove our vitality; they are a sign that we live, feel, and think. In that is our unity; that which separates unites us.”

  “Under what banner do you stand, then?”

  “Labor and suffering. We have no distinguishing name. Those who are peasant enthusiasts call us ‘baker’s apprentices.’”

  “How so?”

  “According to facts. Life will teach thee what these mean. Each one of us tries to live where there is a bakery, to become acquainted with the baker, and gain credit with him. That is our method; he trusts us. The majority of us eat nothing warm, but a cake on credit thou wilt get as long as thou wishest.”

  “That is pleasant!”

  “Besides our coterie, which is not united by very strong bonds, there are peasant enthusiasts. Antonevich organized and formed them. Rylski and Stempkovski led them for a time, but today these are all fools who know not what they want, they talk Little Russian and drink common vodka — that is the whole matter.”

  “And what other coteries are there?”

  “Clearly outlined, there are no more; but there are various shades. Some are c
onnected by a communion of scientific ideas, others by a common social standpoint. Thou wilt find here democrats, aristocrats, liberals, ultra-montanes, frolickers, women-hunters, idlers, if thou wish, and finally sunburnt laborers.”

  “Who passes for the strongest head?”

  “Among students?”

  “Yes.”

  “That depends on the branch. Some say that Augustinovich knows much; I will add that he does not know it well. For connected solid work and science Gustav is distinguished.”

  “Ah!”

  “But they talk variously about him. Some cannot endure him. By living with him thou wilt estimate the man best, — for example, his relations with the widow. That is a sentimental bit of conduct; another man would not have acted as he has. Indeed, it is not easy to get on with her now.”

  “I have heard Gustav speak of her, but tell me once for all, what sort of woman is she?”

  “She is a young person acquainted with all of us. Her history is a sad one. She fell in love with Potkanski, a jurist, and loved him perhaps madly. I do not remember those times — I remember Potkanski, however. He was a gifted fellow, very wealthy and industrious; in his day he was the idol of his comrades. How he came to know Helena, I cannot tell you; it is explained variously. This only is certain, that they loved each other to the death. She was not more than eighteen years of age. At last Potkanski determined to marry her. It is difficult to describe what his family did to prevent him, but Potkanski, an energetic man, stuck to his point, and married her despite every hindrance. Their married life lasted one year. He fell ill of typhoid on a sudden, and died leaving her on the street as it were, for his family seized all his property. A child which was living when he died, died also soon after. The widow was left alone, and had it not been for Gustav — well, she would have perished.”

  “What did Gustav do?”