Pani Emilia, with Litka and Marynia, and with them Plavitski, were
going to the Bigiels to dine at their country house, which stood in a
forest at the distance of one hour and a half from the city. It was a
fine day in September; there were myriads of glittering spider-webs
in the air and on the stubbles. Leaves still fresh and green adhered
to the trees yet; here and there, through leafy openings, were
visible as it were fountains and bouquets of red and yellow. That
pale and faded autumn brought to Marynia's mind her occupations in
the country, the odor of grain in the barns, the fields with stacks,
and the clear extent of the meadows, bounded way off somewhere on the
horizon by stretches of alder. She felt a yearning for that life and
that composure, in comparison with which the city, notwithstanding
the labor which seethed in its every-day existence, but which Marynia
was unable to appreciate, seemed to her idle and empty. She felt now
that that life in which she had found her own worth and merit was lost
beyond return to her, and on the other hand there was not outlined
before her anything that could take its place and redeem it. She
might, it is true, return by becoming Pani Mashko; but her heart was
filled with bitterness at that thought alone, and Mashko, with his
Warsaw self-confidence, with his freckles and his side whiskers, with
his aping an English lord, seemed to her simply repulsive. Never had
she felt withal a deeper feeling against Pan Stanislav, who had taken
Kremen from her, and put Mashko in place of it. She was disgusted
with Mashko at that moment, and it seemed to her that she hated Pan
Stanislav. She saw before her life with her father on the pavement of
Warsaw, without an object, without occupation, without an ideal, with
regret for the past and in view of the past, and with emptiness in
the future. For this reason that calm autumn day, instead of quieting
her, filled her with bitterness and sorrow. On the whole, the journey
was not joyous. Litka sat in gloom because "Pan Stas" was not with
them. Pani Emilia gave all attention to her, fearing lest that gloomy
feeling might be connected with her health. Plavitski alone was in
genuine good-humor, especially at the beginning of the journey. In
his buttoned frock-coat, with a red flower in the buttonhole, with
a light-colored overcoat, and with mustaches as pointed as needles,
he thought himself beautiful, and was sprightly, since rheumatism,
which he felt at times, was not troubling him, by reason of the good
weather; secondly, before him sat one of the most presentable women in
Warsaw, who, as he supposed, would not remain indifferent to so many
charms, or in any case would esteem them in so far as she would be able
to note them. Let her say at least to herself, "Oh, what a charming
man that must have been!" In the worst event, Plavitski would have
been satisfied with such a retrospective recognition. In this hope he
was really enchanting; for at one time he was lofty and fatherly, at
another sportive, setting out with the theory that young men of the
present do not know how to act politely with ladies. In politeness, as
he told Pani Emilia, he went as far as mythology, which was true under
a certain aspect, for he looked at her as would a satyr.
But all this was received with a faint smile and with too little
attention, hence he grew offended at last and began to speak of
something else; namely, that, thanks to the relations of his daughter,
he would become acquainted with the bourgeoisie, of which he was glad,
however, for hitherto he had seen that society only on the stage, but
it is necessary in life to meet the most varied kinds of people, for
it is possible to learn something from each of them. He added finally,
that it is the duty of certain circles not to estrange the commonalty,
but on the contrary to gather them in, and thus plant in them sound
principles; therefore he who had striven always to fulfil his social
duties did not halt before that mission. Here the noble expression of
his face took on a certain style of pensiveness, and in that state of
feeling they drove up to the villa of the Bigiels.
It stood in a forest of unmixed pines, in the neighborhood of other
villas, among old trees, which in places were felled, in places
standing in groups of a few, or of a few tens. They seemed to wonder
a little what such a new house was doing among them in the old forest
stillness; but they hospitably shielded it from the wind; on fine days
they surrounded it with balsamic air, permeated with the odor of gum
and resin.
The Bigiels, with a row of children, came out to meet the guests. Pani
Bigiel, who liked Marynia much, greeted her very cordially, desiring,
besides, to prepossess her thereby for Pan Stanislav; she considered
that the better Marynia understood how pleasant it might be for her
among them, the less difficulty would she make.
Plavitski, who, during his previous stay with Marynia in Warsaw,
had made the acquaintance of the Bigiels at Pani Emilia's, but had
limited himself to leaving cards with them simply, showed himself now
such a gracious prince as was possible only to the most refined man,
who at the same time was fulfilling his mission of gathering in the
"bourgeoisie."
"At the present day it is agreeable for any man to find himself under
the roof of a person like you; but all the more for me, since my
cousin, Polanyetski, has entered the career of commerce and is your
partner."
"Polanyetski is a strong man," answered Bigiel, with directness,
pressing the gloved hand of Plavitski.
The ladies retired for a moment to remove their hats; then, the air
being quite warm, they returned to the veranda.
"Is Pan Stanislav not here yet?" inquired Pani Emilia.
"He has been here since morning," answered Bigiel; "but now he is
visiting Pani Kraslavski. The place is near by," added he, turning to
Marynia; "not even half a verst distant. There are summer residences
everywhere about, and those ladies are our nearest neighbors."
"I remember Panna Terka Kraslavski since the time of the carnival,"
said Marynia. "She was always very pale."
"Oh, she is very pale yet. The past winter she spent in Pau."
Meanwhile the little Bigiels, who loved Litka wonderfully, drew her
out to play in front of the house. The little girls showed her their
gardens, made in the sand among the pines, in which gardens, to tell
the truth, nothing would grow. These surveys were interrupted every
little while by the girls, who stood on their toes and kissed Litka's
cheeks; she, bending her beautiful flaxen head, returned these kisses
with tenderness.
But the boys wanted their share as well. First, they stripped to the
stalk the georgina at the house, gathering for Litka the most beautiful
blossoms; then they disputed about this,--what play does Litka like;
and they went to Pani Emilia for information. Edzio, who had the habit
of speaking in a very loud voice, and closing his eyes at the same
time, called out,--
"Please, Pani, I say that she likes ball better, only I don't know that
you will let her play ball."
"Yes; if she will not run, for that hurts her."
"Oh, she will not, Pani; we will throw the ball so that it will go
straight to her every time, then she will not run any. And if Yozio
doesn't know how to throw that way, let her throw the ball."
"I want to play with her," said Yozio, pitifully. And at the very
thought that he might be deprived of that pleasure, his mouth took the
form of a horseshoe and began to quiver; but Litka anticipated his
outburst of sorrow, saying,--
"I will throw to thee, Yozio; I'll throw to thee very often."
Yozio's eyes, already moist, began to smile at once.
"They will not hurt her," said Bigiel to Pani Emilia. "This is
remarkable: the boys are what is called regular tearers; but with her
they are wonderfully careful. It is Pan Stanislav who has trained them
in this devotion to her."
"Such lovely children! there are few in the world like them," remarked
Pani Emilia.
In a moment the children gathered in a group to arrange the play. In
the middle of the group stood Litka, the oldest and the tallest; and
though the little Bigiels were well-behaved children, she, with her
sweet, poetic face and features, almost over-refined, seemed, among
those ruddy, round faces, like a being from another planet. Pani Bigiel
turned attention to that first of all.
"Is she not a real queen?" asked she. "I say truly that never can I
look at her sufficiently."
"She is so noble in appearance," added Bigiel.
And Pani Emilia looked at her only one with a glance in which there was
a sea of love. The children ran apart now, and stood in a great circle
forming, on the gray background of fallen pine needles, parti-colored
spots, which seemed as small under the immense pines as colored
mushrooms.
Marynia went from the veranda and stood near Litka, to assist her in
catching the ball, for which it was necessary to run, and in that way
save her from exertion.
On the broad forest road leading to the villa, Pan Stanislav appeared
at that moment. The children did not notice him at once; but he took
in with a glance the veranda, as well as the space in front; and,
seeing the bright robe of Marynia under a pine, he hastened his steps.
Litka, knowing her mamma's alarm at every more animated movement which
she made, and, not wishing to disquiet her for anything, stood almost
without stirring from her place, and caught on her club only those
balls which came directly toward her. Marynia ran after all that went
farther. By reason of that running, her hair was loosened so that she
had to arrange it; and, at the moment when Pan Stanislav was coming in
at the gate, she stood bent backward somewhat and with arms raised to
her head.
He did not take his eyes from her, and saw no one save her. She
seemed to him on that broad space younger and smaller than usual, and
therewith so maidenlike, so unapproachably attractive, so created
for this, that a man should put his arms around her and press her
to his boson; she was so feminine, so much the dearest creature on
earth,--that never till that moment had he felt with such force how he
loved her.
At sight of him, the children threw down their balls and clubs, and
ran with a cry to meet him. The amusement was stopped. Litka at the
first instant sprang also toward Pan Stas, but restrained herself on
a sudden, and looked with her great eyes, now toward him, now toward
Marynia.
"But thou art not rushing to meet Pan Polanyetski," said Marynia.
"No."
"Why, Litus?"
"Because--"
And her cheeks flushed somewhat, though the child did not know and did
not dare to express her thought, which might be expressed in the words:
"Because he does not love me any more; he loves only thee, and looks
only at thee."
But he approached, freeing himself from the children, and repeating,--
"Do not hang on, little rogues, or I'll throw you."
And he extended his hand to Marynia, looking at her in the eyes, with
an entreaty for a pleasant smile and a greeting even a whit less
indifferent than usual; then he turned to Litka,--
"But is the dearest kitten well?"
At sight of him, and under the influence of his voice, she, forgetting
all the suffering of her little heart, gave him both hands, saying,--
"Oh, yes, well; but yesterday Pan Stas did not come to us, and it was
sad. To-day I'll take Pan Stas to mamma to give account."
After a while all were on the veranda.
"How are Pani Kraslavski and her daughter?" asked Pani Emilia.
"They are well, and are coming here after dinner," answered Pan
Stanislav.
Just before dinner Professor Vaskovski came, bringing Bukatski, who had
returned to Warsaw the evening before. His intimacy with the Bigiels
permitted him to come without being invited; and the presence of Pani
Emilia was too great a temptation to be resisted. He met her, however,
without a trace of sentiment, in his usual jesting fashion; she was
glad to see him, for he amused her with his strange and original way of
uttering ideas.
"Were you not going to Monachium and Italy?" asked she, when they had
sat down to dinner.
"Yes; but I forgot a card-knife in Warsaw, and came back to get it."
"Oh, that was a weighty reason."
"It always makes me impatient that people do everything from weighty
reasons. What privilege have weighty reasons, that every man must
accommodate himself to them? Besides, I gave, without wishing it,
the last services to a friend, for yesterday I was at the funeral of
Lisovich."
"What! that thin little sportsman?" inquired Bigiel.
"The same. And imagine that to this moment I cannot escape astonishment
that a man who played the jester all his life could bring himself to
such a serious thing as death. Simply I cannot recognize my Lisovich.
At every step a man meets disappointment."
"But," said Pan Stanislav, "Pani Kraslavski told me that Ploshovski, he
with whom all the women of Warsaw were in love, shot himself in Rome."
"He was a relative of mine," said Plavitski.
This news affected Pani Emilia mainly. She scarcely knew Ploshovski
himself, but she had often seen his aunt, for whom her husband's elder
brother was agent. She knew also how blindly this aunt loved her
sister's son.
"My God, what a misfortune!" said she. "But is it true? A young man so
capable, so wealthy--poor Panna Ploshovski!"
"And such a great estate will be without an heir," added Bigiel. "I
know their property, for it is near Warsaw. Old Panna Ploshovski
had two relatives: Pani Krovitski, though she was distant, and Leo
Ploshovski, who was nearer. Neither are living now."
These words moved Plavitski again. He was indeed some sort of a distant
relative of Panna Ploshovski, and even had seen her two or three times
in his life; but there remained to him merely the remembrance of fear,
for she had told him the bitter truth each time without circumlocution,
or rather, speaking simply, had scolded him as much as he could hold.
For this reason, in the further course of his life he avoided her most
carefully, and all communication between them was stopped, though on
occasions he liked to say a word in society of his relationship with
a family so well known and important. He belonged to that category
of people, numerous in our country, who are convinced that the Lord
God created for their special use an easy road to fortune through
inheritance, and who consider every hope of that kind as certain. He
cast a solemn glance, therefore, on the assembly, and said,--
"Perhaps, too, Providence decided that those properties should pass to
other hands, which are able to make better use of them."
"I met Ploshovski abroad once," said Pan Stanislav; "and on me he made
the impression of a man altogether uncommon. I remember him perfectly."
"He was so brilliant and sympathetic," added Pani Bigiel.
"May God show him mercy!" said Professor Vaskovski. "I too knew him; he
was a genuine Aryan."
"Azoryan," said Plavitski.
"Aryan," repeated the professor.
"Azoryan," corrected Plavitski, with emphasis and dignity.
And the two old men looked at each other with astonishment, neither
knowing what the other wanted, and this to the great delight of
Bukatski, who, raising his monocle, said,--
"How is that, Aryan or Azoryan?"
Pan Stanislav put an end to the misunderstanding by explaining that
Azorya was the name of the family escutcheon of the Ploshovskis, that
therefore it was possible to be at once an Aryan and an Azoryan; to
which Plavitski agreed unwillingly, making the parenthetical remark
that whoso bears a decent name, need not be ashamed of it, nor modify
it.
Bukatski, turning to Pani Emilia, began to converse in his usual frigid
tone,--
"One kind of suicide alone do I consider justifiable, suicide for love;
therefore I am persuading myself for a number of years to it, but
always in vain."
"They say that suicide is cowardice," put in Marynia.
"This is a reason too why I do not take my life: I am excessively
brave."
"Let us not speak of death, but of life," said Bigiel, "and of that
which is best in it, health. To the health of Pani Emilia!"
"And Litka," added Pan Stanislav.
Then he turned to Marynia and said, "To the health of our mutual
friends!"
"Most willingly," answered Marynia.
Then he lowered his voice and continued, "For see, I consider them
not only as friends of mine, but also--how is it to be expressed?--as
advocates. Litka is a child yet, but Pani Emilia knows to whom
friendship may be offered. Therefore if a certain person had a
prejudice against me, even justly; if I had acted with that person not
precisely as I should, or simply ill, and if that person knew me to be
suffering from my act,--that person ought to think that I am not the
worst of men, since Pani Emilia has sincere good-will for me."
Marynia was confused at once; she was sorry for him. He finished in a
still lower voice,--
"But in truth I am suffering. This is a great question for me."
Before she had answered, Plavitski raised a health to Pani Bigiel,
and made a whole speech, the substance of which was that the Queen of
Creation is no other than woman; therefore all heads should incline
before woman, as the queen, and, for this reason, he had bowed down all
his life before woman in general, and at present he bowed before Pani
Bigiel in particular.
Pan Stanislav from his soul wished him to choke, for he felt that he
might have received some kind word from Marynia, and he felt that the
moment had passed. In fact, Marynia went to embrace Pani Bigiel; on her
return she did not resume the interrupted conversation, and he dared
not ask her directly for an answer.
Immediately after dinner came Pani and Panna Kraslavski: the mother,
a woman about fifty years old, animated, self-confident, talkative;
the daughter, the complete opposite of her mother, formal, dry, cold,
pronouncing "tek," instead of "tak," but for the rest with a full,
though pale face, reminding one somewhat of the faces of Holbein's
Madonnas.
Pan Stanislav began out of malice to entertain her; but, looking from
time to time at the fresh face and blue eyes of Marynia, he said
to himself, "If thou hadst given even one kind word! thou,--thou,
the pitiless." And he grew more and more angry, so that when Panna
Kraslavski said "memme" instead of "mamma," he inquired harshly,--
"Who is that?"
"Memme," however, displayed her whole supply of facts, or rather
suppositions, concerning the suicide of Ploshovski.
"Imagine," said she, with warmth, "it came to my head at once that he
shot himself because of the death of Pani Krovitski. Lord light her
soul! she was a coquette, and I never liked her. She coquetted with
him so that I was afraid to take Terka to any place where they were
together, because her conduct was simply a bad example for such a young
girl. What is true, is true! Lord light her soul! Terka, too, had no
sympathy for her."
"Ah, Pani," said Pani Emilia, "I have always heard that she was an
angel."
And Bukatski, who had never seen Pani Krovitski in his life, turned to
Pani Kraslavski and said phlegmatically,--
"Madame, _je vous donne ma parole d'honneur_ that she was an archangel."
Pani Kraslavski was silent a moment, not knowing what to answer; then,
flushing up, she would have answered something sharp, were it not that
Bukatski, as a man of wealth, might in a given event be a good match
for Terka. Pan Stanislav enjoyed the same consideration in her eyes;
and for these two exclusively she kept up summer relations with the
Bigiels, whom she did not recognize when they met her by chance on the
street.
"With gentlemen," said she, "every presentable woman is an angel or an
archangel. I do not like this, even when they say it to me about Terka.
Pani Krovitski might be a good person, but she had no tact; that is the
whole question."
In this way conversation about Ploshovski dropped, the more since the
attention of Pani Kraslavski was turned exclusively to Pan Stanislav,
who was entertaining Panna Terka. He was entertaining her a little out
of anger at himself, a little out of anger at Marynia, and he tried to
convince himself that it was pleasant for him near her; he tried even
to find in her a charm, and discovered that her neck was too slender
and her eyes as it were quenched eyes, which grew lively and turned
inquiringly at him when there was no place for a question. He observed,
too, that she might be a quiet despot, for when the mother began to
talk too loudly, Panna Terka put her glasses to her eyes and looked
at her attentively; and under the influence of that look the mother
lowered her voice, or grew silent altogether. In general, Panna Terka
annoyed him immensely; and if he occupied himself more with her than he
ever had before, he did so from sheer desperation, to rouse at least a
shade of jealousy in Marynia. Even people of sound sense grasp at such
vain methods when the misery of their feelings presses them too keenly.
These methods produce usually results opposite to those intended, for
they increase the difficulty of subsequent approach and explanations;
besides, they merely strengthen the feeling cherished in the heart of
the person using them. Toward the end Pan Stanislav longed so much for
Marynia that he would have agreed to listen even to an unpleasant word
from her, if he could only approach her and speak; and still it seemed
to him more difficult now than an hour before. He drew a deep breath
when the visit was over, and the guests were preparing to go. Before
that, however, Litka approached her mother, and, putting her arms
around her neck, whispered. Pani Emilia nodded, and then approached Pan
Stanislav,--
"Pan Stanislav," said she, "if you do not think of spending the night
here, ride with us. Marynia and I will take Litka between us, and there
will be room enough."
"Very well. I cannot pass the night here; and I am very thankful,"
answered he; and, divining easily who the author of this plan was, he
turned to Litka and said,--
"Thou, my best little kitten, thou."
She, holding to her mother's dress, raised to him her eyes, half sad,
half delighted, asking quietly,--
"Is that good, Pan Stas?"
A few minutes later they started. After a fine day there came a night
still finer, a little cool, but all bright and silvery from the moon.
Pan Stanislav, for whom the day had passed grievously and in vain,
breathed now with full breast, and felt almost happy, having before
him two beings whom he loved very deeply, and one whom he loved beyond
everything on earth. By the light of the moon he saw her face, and it
seemed to him mild and peaceful. He thought that Marynia's feelings
must be like her face in that moment; that perhaps her dislike of him
was softening amid that general quiet.
Litka dropped into the depth of the seat, and appeared to be sleeping.
Pan Stanislav threw a shawl, taken from Pani Emilia, over her feet, and
they rode on a while in silence.
Pani Emilia began to speak of Ploshovski, the news of whose death had
impressed her deeply.
"There is hidden in all that some unusually sad drama," said Pan
Stanislav; "and Pani Kraslavski may be right in some small degree when
she insists that these two deaths are connected."
"There is in suicide," said Marynia, "this ghastly thing, that one
feels bound to condemn it; and while condemning there is an impression
that there should be no sympathy for the misfortune."
"Sympathy," answered Pan Stanislav, "should be had for those who have
feeling yet,--hence for the living."
The conversation ceased, and they went on again for some time in
silence. After a while Pan Stanislav pointed to the lights in the
windows of a house standing in the depth of a forest park, and said,--
"That is Pani Kraslavski's villa."
"I cannot forgive her for what she said of that unfortunate Pani
Krovitski," said Pani Emilia.
"That is simply a cruel woman," added Pan Stanislav; "but do you know
why? It is because of her daughter. She looks on the whole world as a
background which she would like to make as black as possible, so that
Panna Terka might be reflected on it the more brightly. Perhaps the
mother had designs sometime on Ploshovski; perhaps she considered Pani
Krovitski a hindrance,--hence her hatred."
"That is a nice young lady," said Marynia.
"There are persons for whom behind the world of social forms begins
another and far wider world; for her nothing begins there, or rather
everything ends. She is simply an automaton, in whom the heart beats
only when her mother winds it with a key. For that matter, there
are in society very many such young ladies; and even those who give
themselves out for something different are in reality just like her.
It is the eternal history of Galatea. Would you believe, ladies, that
a couple of years since an acquaintance of mine, a young doctor, fell
in love to distraction with that puppet, that quenched candle. Twice he
proposed, and twice he was rejected; for those ladies looked higher. He
joined the Holland service afterwards, and died there somewhere, with
the fever doubtless; for at first he wrote to me inquiring about his
automaton, and later on those letters ceased to come."
"Does she know of this?"
"She does; for as often as I see her, I speak of him. And what is
characteristic is this,--that the memory of him does not ruffle her
composure for an instant. She speaks of him as of any one else. If he
expected from her even a posthumous sorrow, he was deceived in that
also. I must show you, ladies, sometime, one of his letters. I strove
to explain to him her feeling; he answered me, 'I estimate her coolly,
but I cannot tear my soul from her.' He was a sceptic, a positive
man, a child of the age; but it seems that feeling makes sport of all
philosophies and tendencies. Everything passes; but feeling was, is,
and will be. Besides, he said to me once, 'I would rather be unhappy
with her than happy with another.' What is to be said in this case? The
man looked at things soundly, but could not tear his soul away,--and
that was the end of it."
This conversation ended also. They came out now on to a road planted
with chestnut-trees, the trunks of which seemed rosy in the light of
the carriage lamps.
"But if any one has misfortune, he must endure it," said Pan Stanislav,
following evidently the course of his own thoughts.
Meanwhile Pani Emilia bent over Litka,--
"Art sleeping, child?" inquired she.
"No, mamma," answered Litka.