But the following day was a gray one, and Panna Plavitski woke with
reproaches. It seemed to her that, the day before, she had let herself
be borne away on some current farther than was proper, and that she
had been simply coquetting with Pan Stanislav. She was penetrated
with special dissatisfaction, for this reason principally: that
Pan Stanislav had only come as a creditor. She had forgotten that
yesterday; but to-day she said to herself, "Undoubtedly it will come
to his head that I wanted to win him, or to soften him;" and at this
thought the blood flowed to her cheeks and her forehead. She had an
honest nature and much ambition, which revolted at every idea that she
might be suspected of calculation. Believing now in the possibility of
such a suspicion, she felt in advance as if offended by Pan Stanislav.
Withal, there was one thought which was bitter beyond every expression:
she knew that, as a rule, a copper could not overtake a copper in the
treasury of Kremen; that there was no money; and that if, in view of
the proposed parcelling of Magyerovka, there were hopes of having
some in future, her father would make evasions, for he considered
other debts more urgent than Pan Stanislav's. She promised herself,
it is true, to do all in her power to see him paid absolutely, and
before others; but she knew that she was not able to effect much. Her
father assisted her willingly in management; but in money matters
he had his own way; and it was rarely that he regarded her opinion.
His rôle consisted really in evading everything by all means,--by
promises never kept, by delays, by presenting imaginary calculations
and hopes, instead of reality. As the collection of debts secured by
mortgage on land is difficult and tedious, and defence may be kept up
almost as long as one wishes, Plavitski held on to Kremen, thanks to
his system. In the end, all this threatened ruin inexorable, as well
as complete; but, meanwhile, the old man considered himself "the head
of affairs," and listened the more unwillingly to the opinions and
counsels of his daughter, since he suspected at once that she doubted
his "head." This offended his self-esteem to the utmost. Marynia had
passed, because of this "head" and its methods, through more than one
humiliation. Her country life was only an apparent ideal of work and
household occupations. There was wanting to it neither bitterness nor
pain; and her calm countenance indicated, not only the sweetness of
her character, but its strength, and a great education of spirit. The
humiliation which threatened her this time, however, seemed harder to
bear than the others.
"At least, let him not suspect me," said she to herself. But how could
she prevent his suspicion? Her first thought was to see Pan Stanislav
before he met her father, and describe the whole state of affairs to
him; treat him as a man in whom she had confidence. It occurred to her
then that such a description would be merely a prayer for forbearance,
for compassion; and hence a humiliation. Were it not for this thought,
Marynia would have sent for him. She, as a woman noting keenly
every quiver of her own heart and the hearts of others, felt half
consciously, half instinctively, that between her and that young man
something was foreshadowed; that something had begun, as it were; and,
above all, that something might and must be inevitable in the future,
if she chose that it should be; but, as affairs stood, it did not seem
to her that she could choose. Only one thing remained,--to see Pan
Stanislav, and efface by her demeanor yesterday's impressions; to break
the threads which had been fastened between them, and to give him full
freedom of action. Such a method seemed best to her.
Learning from the servants that Pan Stanislav not only had risen, but
had drunk tea and gone out to the road, she decided to find him. This
was not difficult, since he had returned from his morning walk, and,
standing at the side wall of the entrance, which was grown over with
wild grape-vines, was talking with those two dogs which had fawned
on him so effusively at his arrival. He did not see her at once; and
Marynia, standing on the steps, heard him saying to the dogs,--
"These big dogs take pay for watching the house? They eat? They don't
bark at strangers, but fawn on them. Ei! stupid dogs, lazy fellows!"
And he patted their white heads. Then, seeing her through the openings
of the grape-vines, he sprang up as quickly as if thrown from a sling,
and stood before her, glad and bright-faced.
"Good-morning. I have been talking with the dogs. How did you rest?"
"Thank you." And she extended her hand to him coldly; but he was
looking at her with eyes in which was to be seen most clearly how
great and deep a pleasure the sight of her caused him. And he pleased
poor Marynia not less; he simply pleased her whole soul. Her heart was
oppressed with regret that she had to answer his cordial good-morning
so ceremoniously and coldly.
"Perhaps you were going out to look after affairs? In that case, if you
permit, I will go with you. I must return to the city to-day; hence one
moment more in your company will be agreeable. God knows if I could I
would remain longer. But now I know the road to Kremen."
"We beg you to come, whenever time may permit."
Pan Stanislav noticed now the coolness of her words, of her face; and
began to look at her with astonishment. But if Marynia thought that he
would do as people do usually,--accommodate himself to her tone readily
and in silence,--she was mistaken. Pan Stanislav was too vivacious and
daring not to seek at once for the cause; so, looking her steadfastly
in the eye, he said,--
"Something is troubling you."
Marynia was confused.
"You are mistaken," replied she.
"I see well; and you know that I am not mistaken. You act toward me as
you did the first evening. But then I made a blunder: I began to speak
of money at a wrong time. Yesterday I begged your pardon, and it was
pleasant,--how pleasant! To-day, again, it is different. Tell me why!"
Not the most adroit diplomacy could have beaten Marynia from her path.
It seemed to her that she could chill him and keep him at a distance
by this demeanor; but he, by inquiring so directly, rather brought
himself nearer, and he continued to speak in the tone of a man on whom
an injustice had been wrought:--
"Tell me what is the matter; tell me! Your father said I was to be
a guest yesterday, and a creditor to-day. But that is fol--that is
nothing! I do not understand such distinctions; and I shall never be
your creditor, rather your debtor. For I am already indebted to you,
and grateful for yesterday's kindness; and God knows how much I wish
to be indebted to you always."
He looked into her eyes again, observing carefully whether there would
not appear in them yesterday's smile; but Marynia, whose heart was
oppressed more and more, went on by the way which she had chosen:
first, because she had chosen it; and second, lest by acknowledging
that to-day she was different, she might be forced to explain why she
was so.
"I assure you," said she, at last, with a certain effort, "that either
you were mistaken yesterday, or you are mistaken to-day. I am always
the same, and it will always be agreeable to me if you bear away
pleasant memories."
The words were polite, but uttered by a young woman so unlike her of
yesterday that on Pan Stanislav's face impatience and anger began to
appear.
"If it is important for you that I should feign to believe this, let it
be as you wish. I shall go away, however, with the conviction that in
the country Monday is very different from Sunday."
These words touched Marynia; for from them it seemed as if Pan
Stanislav had assumed certain rights by reason of her conduct with him
yesterday. But she answered rather with sadness than with anger,--
"How can I help that?"
And after a while she went away, saying that she had to go and wish
good-day to her father. Pan Stanislav remained alone. He drove away the
dogs, which had tried to fawn on him anew, and began to be angry.
"What does this mean?" asked he in his mind. "Yesterday, kind; to-day,
surly,--altogether a different woman. How stupid all this is, and
useless! Yesterday, a relative; to-day, a creditor! What is that to
her? Why does she treat me like a dog? Have I robbed any one? She knew
yesterday, too, why I came. Very well! If you want to have me as a
creditor--not Polanyetski--all right. May thunderbolts crush the whole
business!"
Meanwhile Marynia ran into her father's chamber. Plavitski had risen,
and was sitting, attired in his dressing-gown, before a desk covered
with papers. For a while he turned to answer the good-day of his
daughter, then occupied himself again with reading the papers.
"Papa," said Marynia, "I have come to speak of Pan Stanislav. Does
papa--"
But he interrupted her without ceasing to look at the papers,--
"I will bend thy Pan Stanislav in my hand like wax."
"I doubt if that will be easy. Finally, I should wish that he were paid
before others, even with the greatest loss to us."
Plavitski, turning from the desk, gazed at her, and asked coolly,--
"Is this, I pray, a guardianship over him, or over me?"
"It is a question of our honor."
"In which, as thou thinkest, I need thy assistance?"
"No, papa; but--"
"What pathetic day has come on us? What is the matter with thee?"
"I merely beg, papa, by all--"
"And I beg thee also to leave me. Thou hast set me aside from the land
management. I yielded; for, during the couple of years that remain
to me in life, I have no wish to be quarrelling with my own child.
But leave me even this corner in the house,--even this one room,--and
permit me to transact such affairs as it is possible to transact here."
"Dear papa, I only beg--"
"That I should move out into a cottage, which, for the fourth time,
thou art choosing for me?"
Evidently the old man, in speaking of the "pathetic day," wished merely
that no one should divide this monopoly with him. He rose now, in his
Persian dressing-gown, like King Lear, and grasped at the arm of his
chair; thus giving his heartless daughter to understand that, if he had
not done this, he should have fallen his whole length on the floor,
stricken down by her cruelty. But tears came to her eyes, and a bitter
feeling of her own helplessness flowed to her heart. For a while she
stood in silence, struggling with sorrow and a wish to cry; then she
said quietly, "I beg pardon of papa," and went out of the room.
A quarter of an hour later, Pan Stanislav entered, at the request
of Plavitski, but ill-humored, irritated through striving to master
himself.
Plavitski, after he had greeted his visitor, seated him at his side in
an armchair prepared previously, and, putting his palm on the young
man's knee, said,--
"Stas, but thou wilt not burn this house? Thou wilt not kill me, who
opened my arms to thee as a relative; thou wilt not make my child an
orphan?"
"No," answered Pan Stanislav; "I will not burn the house, I will not
cut uncle's throat, and I will not make any child an orphan. I beg
uncle not to talk in this manner, for it leads to nothing, and to me it
is unendurable."
"Very well," said Plavitski, somewhat offended, however, that his
style and manner of expression had found such slight recognition; "but
remember that thou didst come to me and to this house when thou wert
still a child."
"I came because my mother came; and my mother, after the death of Aunt
Helen, came because uncle did not pay interest. All this is neither
here nor there. The money rests on a mortgage of twenty-one years. With
the unpaid interest, it amounts to about twenty-four thousand rubles.
For the sake of round numbers, let it be twenty thousand; but I must
have those twenty, since I came for them."
Plavitski inclined his head with resignation. "Thou didst come for
that. True. But why wert thou so different yesterday, Stas?"
Pan Stanislav, who half an hour earlier had put that same question to
Marynia, just sprang up in his chair, but restrained himself and said,--
"I beg you to come to business."
"I do not draw back before business; only permit me to say a couple
of words first, and do not interrupt me. Thou hast said that I have
not paid the interest. True. But knowest thou why? Thy mother did not
give me all her property, and could not without permission of a family
council. Perhaps it was worse for you that the permission was not
given, but never mind. When I took those few thousand rubles, I said to
myself: The woman is alone in the world with one child; it is unknown
how she will manage, unknown what may happen. Let the money which she
has with me be her iron foundation; let it increase, so that at a given
moment she may have something for her hands to seize hold on. And
since then I have been in some fashion thy savings bank. Thy mother
gave me twelve thousand rubles; to-day thou hast in my hands almost
twenty-four thousand. That is the result. And wilt thou repay me now
with ingratitude?"
"Beloved uncle," answered Pan Stanislav, "do not take me, I pray, for
a greater dunce than I am, nor for a madman. I say simply that I am
not caught with such chaff; it is too coarse. Uncle says that I have
twenty-four thousand rubles; where are they? I am asking for them,
without talk, and moreover such talk."
"But be patient, I pray thee, and restrain thyself, even for this
reason, that I am older," answered Plavitski, offended and with dignity.
"I have a partner, who in a month will contribute twelve thousand
rubles to a certain business. I must pay the same amount. I say clearly
and declare that, after two years of annoyance with letters, I cannot
and will not endure any longer."
Plavitski rested his arm on the desk, his forehead on his palm, and
was silent. Pan Stanislav looked at him, waiting for an answer; he
gazed with increasing displeasure, and in his mind gave himself this
question: "Is he a trickster or a lunatic; is he an egotist, so blinded
to himself that he measures good and evil by his own comfort merely; or
is he all these together?"
Meanwhile Plavitski held his face hidden on his palm, and was silent.
"I should like to say something," began Pan Stanislav, at last.
But the old man waved his hand, indicating that he wished to be alone
with his thoughts for a time yet. On a sudden he raised his face, which
had grown radiant,--
"Stas," said he, "why are we disputing, when there is such a simple way
out of it?"
"How?"
"Take the marl."
"What?"
"Bring thy partner, bring some specialist; we will set a price on my
marl, and form a company of three. Thy--what's his name? Bigiel, isn't
it? will pay me so much, whatever falls to him; thou wilt either add
something or not; and we'll all go on together. The profits may be
colossal."
Pan Stanislav rose. "I assure you," said he, "that there is one thing
to which I am not accustomed, that is to be made sport of. I do not
want your marl; I want only my money; and what you tell me I regard
simply as an unworthy or stupid evasion."
A moment of oppressive silence followed. Jove's anger began to gather
on the brows and forehead of Plavitski. For a while he threatened
boldly with his eyes, then, moving quickly to the hooks on which his
weapons were hanging, he took down a hunter's knife, and, offering it
to Pan Stanislav, said,--
"But there is another way, strike!" and he opened his dressing-gown
widely; but Pan Stanislav, mastering himself no longer, pushed away the
hand with the knife, and began to speak in a loud voice,--
"This is a paltry comedy, nothing more! It is a pity to lose words and
time with you. I am going away, for I have had enough of you and your
Kremen; but I say that I will sell my debt, even for half its value, to
the first Jew I meet. He will be able to settle with you."
Then the right hand of Plavitski was stretched forth in solemnity.
"Go," said he, "sell. Let the Jew into the family nest; but know this,
that the curse, both of me and of those who have lived here, will find
thee wherever thou art."
Pan Stanislav rushed out of the room, white with rage. In the
drawing-room he cursed as much as he could, looking for his hat;
finding it at last, he was going out to see if the brichka had come,
when Marynia appeared. At sight of her he restrained himself somewhat;
but, remembering that she it was, precisely, who was occupied with
everything in Kremen, he said,--
"I bid farewell to you. I have finished with your father. I came for
what belonged to me; but he gave me first a blessing, then marl, and
finally a curse. A nice way to pay debts!"
There was a moment in which Marynia wished to extend her hand to him
and say,--
"I understand your anger. A while ago I was with father also, and
begged him to pay you before all others. Deal with us and with Kremen
as may please you; but do not accuse me, do not think that I belong to
a conspiracy against you, and retain even a little esteem for me."
Her hand was already extending, the words were on her lips, when Pan
Stanislav, rousing himself internally, and losing his balance still
more, added,--
"I say this because, when I spoke to you the first evening, you were
offended, and sent me to your father. I give thanks for the effective
advice; but, as it was better for you than for me, I will follow my own
judgment hereafter."
Marynia's lips grew pale; in her eyes were tears of indignation, and,
at the same time, of deep offence. She raised her head, and said,--
"You may utter what injuries you like, since there is no one to take my
part;" then she turned to the door, with her soul full of humiliation
and almost despair, because those were the only returns she had
received for that labor in which she had put her whole strength and all
the zeal of her honest young soul. Pan Stanislav saw, too, that he had
exceeded the measure. Having very lively feelings, he passed in one
instant to compassion, and wished to hurry after her to beg her pardon;
but it was late: she had vanished.
This roused a new attack of rage. This time, however, the rage included
himself. Without taking farewell of any one, he sat in the brichka,
which came up just then, and drove out of Kremen. In his soul such
anger was seething that for a time he could think of nothing but
vengeance. "I will sell it, even for a third of the value," said he to
himself, "and let others distrain you. I give my word of an honest man
that I will sell. Even without need, I will sell out of spite!"
In this way his intention was changed into a stubborn and sworn
resolve. Pan Stanislav was not of those who break promises given to
others or themselves. It was now a mere question of finding a man to
buy a claim so difficult of collection; for to receive the amount of it
was, without exaggeration, to crack a flint with one's teeth.
Meanwhile the brichka rolled out of the alley to the road in the open
field. Pan Stanislav, recovering somewhat, began to think of Marynia
in a form of mind which was a mosaic composed of the impressions which
her face and form had made on him,--of recollections of the Sunday
conversation; of repulsion, of pity, of offence, animosity; and,
finally, dissatisfaction with himself, which strengthened his animosity
against her. Each of these feelings in turn conquered the others,
and cast on them its color. At times he recalled the stately figure
of Marynia, her eyes, her dark hair, her mouth, pleasing, though too
large, perhaps; finally, her expression; and an outburst of sympathy
for her mastered him. He thought that she was very girlish; but in
her mouth, in her arms, in the lines of her whole figure, there was
something womanly, something that attracted with irresistible force.
He recalled her mild voice, her calm expression, and her very evident
goodness. Then, at thought of how harsh he had been to her before
going,--at thought of the tone with which he had spoken to her,--he
began to curse himself. "If the father is an old comedian, a trickster,
and a fool," said he to himself; "and if she feels all this, she is
the unhappier. But what then? Every man with a bit of heart would have
understood the position, taken compassion on her, instead of attacking
the poor overworked child. I attacked her. I!" Then he wanted to slap
his own face; for at once he imagined what might have been, what an
immeasurable approach, what an exceptional tenderness would have
arisen, if, after all the quarrels with her father, he had treated her
as was proper,--that is, with the utmost delicacy. She would have given
him both hands when he was leaving; he would have kissed them; and he
and she would have parted like two persons near to each other. "May
the devils take the money!" repeated he to himself; "and may they take
me!" And he felt that he had done things which could not be corrected.
This feeling took away the remnant of his equilibrium, and pushed him
all the more along that road, the error of which he recognized. And he
began a monologue again, more or less like the following,--
"Since all is lost, let all burn. I will sell the claim to any Jew;
let him collect. Let them fly out on to the pavement; let the old man
find some office; let her go as a governess, or marry Gantovski." Then
he felt that he would agree to anything rather than the last thought.
He would twist Gantovski's neck. Let any one take her, only not such a
wooden head, such a bear, such a dolt. Beautiful epithets began to fall
on the hapless Gantovski; and all the venom passed over on to him, as
if he had been really the cause of whatever had happened.
Arriving in such a man-eating temper at Chernyov, Pan Stanislav might,
perhaps, like another Ugolino, have gnawed at once into Gantovski
with his teeth, "where the skull meets the neck," if he had seen him
at the station. Fortunately, instead of Gantovski's "skull," he saw
only some officials, some peasants, a number of Jews, and the sad, but
intelligent face of Councillor Yamish, who recognized him, and who,
when the train arrived soon, invited him--thanks to good relations with
the station-master--to a separate compartment.
"I knew your father," said he; "and I knew him in his brilliant days.
I found a wife in that neighborhood. I remember he had then Zvihov,
Brenchantsa, Motsare, Rozvady in Lubelsk,--a fine fortune. Your
grandfather was one of the largest landowners in that region; but now
the estate must have passed into other hands."
"Not now, but long since. My father lost all his property during his
life. He was sickly; he lived at Nice, did not take care of what he
had, and it went. Had it not been for the inheritance which, after his
death, fell to my mother, it would have been difficult."
"But you are well able to help yourself. I know your house; I have had
business in hops with you through Abdulski."
"Then Abdulski did business with you?"
"Yes; and I must confess that I was perfectly satisfied with our
relations. You have treated me well, and I see that you manage affairs
properly."
"No man can succeed otherwise. My partner, Bigiel, is an honest man,
and I am not Plavitski."
"How is that?" asked Yamish, with roused curiosity.
Pan Stanislav, with the remnant of his anger unquenched, told the whole
story.
"H'm!" said Yamish; "since you speak of him without circumlocution,
permit me to speak in like manner, though he is your relative."
"He is no relative of mine: his first wife was a relative and friend of
my mother,--that is all; he himself is no relative."
"I know him from childhood. He is rather a spoiled than a bad man. He
was an only son, hence, to begin with, his parents petted him; later on
his two wives did the same. Both were quiet, mild women; for both he
was an idol. During whole years matters so arranged themselves that he
was the sun around which other planets circled; and at last he came to
the conviction that everything from others was due to him, and nothing
to others from him. When conditions are such that evil and good are
measured by one's own comfort solely, nothing is easier than to lose
moral sense. Plavitski is a mixture of pompousness and indulgence: of
pompousness, for he himself is ever celebrating his own glory; and
indulgence, for he permits himself everything. This has become almost
his nature. Difficult circumstances came on him. These only a man of
character can meet; character he never had. He began to evade, and
in the end grew accustomed to evasion. Land ennobles, but land also
spoils us. An acquaintance of mine, a bankrupt, said once to me, 'It is
not I who evade, but my property, and I am only talking for it.' And
this is somewhat true,--truer in our position than in any other."
"Imagine to yourself," answered Pan Stanislav, "that I, who am a
descendant of the country, have no inclination for agriculture. I know
that agriculture will exist always, for it must; but in the form in
which it exists to-day I see no future for it. You must perish, all of
you."
"I do not look at it in rose-colors either. I do not mention that the
general condition of agriculture throughout Europe is bad, for that is
known. Just consider. A noble has four sons; hence each of these will
inherit only one-fourth of his father's land. Meanwhile, what happens?
Each, accustomed to his father's mode of living, wishes to live like
the father; the end is foreseen easily. Another case: A noble has four
sons; the more capable choose various careers; you may wager that the
least capable remains on the land. A third case: what a whole series
of generations have acquired, have toiled for, one light head ruins.
Fourth, we are not bad agriculturists, but bad administrators. Good
administration means more than good cultivation of land; what is the
inference, then? The land will remain; but we, who represent it at
present under the form of large ownership, must leave it most likely.
Then, do you see, when we have gone, we may return in time."
"How is that?"
"To begin with, you say that nothing attracts you to land; that is a
deception. Land attracts, and attracts with such force that each man,
after he has come to certain years, to a certain well-being, is unable
to resist the desire of possessing even a small piece of land. That
will come to you too, and it is natural. Finally, every kind of wealth
may be considered as fictitious, except land. Everything comes out of
land; everything exists for it. As a banknote is a receipt for metallic
money in the State Bank, so industry and commerce and whatever else you
please is land turned into another form; and as to you personally, who
have come from it, you must return to it."
"I at least do not think so."
"How do you know? To-day you are making property; but how will you
succeed? And that, too, is a question of the future. The Polanyetskis
were agriculturists; now one of them has chosen another career. The
majority of sons of agriculturists must choose other careers also,
even because they cannot do otherwise. Some of them will fail; some
will succeed and return--but return, not only with capital, but with
new energy, and with that knowledge of exact administration which
is developed by special careers. They will return because of the
attraction which land exercises, and finally through a feeling of duty,
which I need not explain to you."
"What you say has this good side, that then my
such-an-uncle-not-an-uncle Plavitski will belong to a type that has
perished."
Pan Yamish thought a while and said,--
"A thread stretches and stretches till it breaks, but at last it must
break. To my thinking, they cannot hold out in Kremen, even though
they parcel Magyerovka. But do you see whom I pity?--Marynia. She is
an uncommonly honest girl. For you do not know that the old man wanted
to sell Kremen two years ago; and that that did not take place partly
through the prayers of Marynia. Whether this was done out of regard
to the memory of her mother, who lies buried there, or because so
much is said and written about the duty of holding to the soil, it is
sufficient that the girl did what she could to prevent the sale. She
imagined, poor thing, that if she would betake herself with all power
to work, she could do everything. She abandoned the whole world for
Kremen. For her it will be a blow when the thread breaks at last, and
break it must. A pity for the years of the girl!"
"You are a kind person, councillor!" cried Pan Stanislav, with his
accustomed vivacity.
The old man smiled. "I love that girl: besides, she is my pupil in
agriculture; of a truth it will be sad when she is gone from us."
Pan Stanislav fell to biting his mustaches, and said at last, "Let her
marry some man in the neighborhood, and remain."
"Marry, marry! As if that were easy for a girl without property. Who is
there among us? Gantovski. He would take her. He is a good man, and not
at all so limited as they say. But she has no feeling for him, and she
will not marry without feeling. Yalbrykov is a small estate. Besides,
it seems to the old man that the Gantovskis are something inferior to
the Plavitskis, and Gantovski too believes this. With us, as you know,
that man passes for a person of great family who is pleased to boast
himself such. Though people laugh at Plavitski, they have grown used
to his claim. Moreover, one man raises his nose because he is making
property, another because he is losing it, and nothing else remains to
him. But let that pass. I know one thing, whoever gets Marynia will get
a pearl."
Pan Stanislav had in his mind at that moment the same conviction and
feeling. Sinking, therefore, into meditation, he began again to muse
about Marynia, or, rather, to call her to mind and depict her to
himself. All at once it even seemed to him that he would be sad without
her; but he remembered that similar things had seemed so to him more
than once, and that time had swept away the illusion. Still he thought
of her, even when they were approaching the city; and when he got out
at Warsaw, he muttered through his teeth,--
"How stupidly it happened! how stupidly!"