Pan Stanislav was not mistaken. Everything went so favorably for
Mashko, Pani and Panna Kraslavski acted so admirably, that he was more
and more alarmed. At moments he laughed at this; and since he had had
no secret from Pan Stanislav for some time, he said one day, with
complete cynicism,--
"My dear, those are simply angels; but my hair stands on end, for
something is hidden in this."
"Better thank the Lord God."
"They are too ideal; they are faultless; they are even without vanity.
Yesterday, for example, I gave them to understand that I am an advocate
only because to my thinking sons of the best families should undertake
something in these times, be something. Guess what they answered?
That that is as good a position as any other; that every employment
is worthy in their eyes, provided it is work; and that only poor
and empty natures could be ashamed of work. They shot out so many
packages of commonplace that I wanted to answer with a sentence from
copy-books, such as 'Honor is a steep cliff,' or something of that
sort. Polanyetski, I tell thee there is something concealed there. I
thought that it was papa, but it is not papa. I have news of him: he
lives in Bordeaux; he calls himself De Langlais; and he has his own
domestic hearth, not so much legally, as numerously, surrounded, which
he maintains with a pension received from Pani Kraslavski."
"What harm is that to thee?"
"None whatever."
"If it is that way, they are unhappy women,--that is all."
"True; but if their income answers to the misfortune? Remember that
I have burdens. Besides, seest thou, if they are such women as they
pretend, and if, also, they are rich, I am ready to fall in love
really, and that would be stupid; if it appears that they have nothing,
or little, I am ready, also, to fall in love, and that would be still
more stupid. She has charms for me."
"No; that would be the one wise thing in every case. But think of
thyself, Mashko, a little of me and the Plavitskis. It is known to thee
that I have not the habit of being mild in those matters, and the dates
of payment are approaching."
"I'll fire up the boiler once more with credit. For that matter, thou
and they have a mortgage on Kremen. In a couple of days there will be
a betrothal party at Pani Kraslavski's, after which I hope to learn
something reliable."
Here Mashko began a monologue,--
"But that a positive man, such as I am, should go into a forest in this
way, passes belief. On the other hand, there is not a man, even among
those who know best how every one stands, who would let himself doubt
of Pani Kraslavski's property. And they are so noble!"
"Thy fears are probably baseless," interrupted Pan Stanislav, with
certain impatience. "But thou, my dear fellow, art not positive in any
sense, for thou hast been always pretending, and art pretending still,
instead of looking to that which gives thee bread."
A few days later the betrothal party took place in fact. Marynia was
there; for Pani Kraslavski, who liked Plavitski, whose relatives were
known to her, did not avoid association with him as she did with the
Bigiels. Mashko brought such of his acquaintances as had well-known
names. They had monocles on their eyes, and their hair parted in
the middle; for the greater part very young, and mainly not very
quick-witted. Among them were the five brothers Vyj, who were called
Mizio, Kizio, Bizio, Brelochek, and Tatus. They were nicknamed the five
sleeping brothers, since they felt the impulses of life in their legs
exclusively, and were active only in the carnival, but became perfectly
torpid, at least in a mental sense, during Lent. Bukatski loved them,
and amused himself with them. Baron Kot was there, who, because he had
heard something from some one of a certain ancient Kot of Dembna, added
always, when he was presented, "of Dembna," and who always answered
everything that was said to him with: "_Quelle drôle d'histoire!_"
Mashko was on the footing of _thou_ with all these, though he treated
them with a certain species of disregard, as well as Kopovski,--a young
man with a splendid ideal head, and also splendid eyes without thought.
Pan Stanislav and Kresovski represented the category of Mashko's more
clever friends. Pani Kraslavski had invited a number of ladies with
daughters, among whom the five brothers circled carelessly and coolly,
and whose maiden hearts fluttered at the approach of Kopovski, caring
less for his mental resemblance to Hamlet, resting on this,--that if
not he, his brain might be put into "a nutshell." A number of dignified
bald heads completed the company.
Panna Kraslavski was dressed in white; in spite of her red eyes, she
looked alluring. There was in her, indeed, a certain womanly charm,
resting on a wonderful, almost dreamy repose. She recalled somewhat the
figures of Perugini. At times she grew bright, like an alabaster lamp,
in which a flame flashes up on a sudden; after a while she paled again,
but paled not without charm. Dressed in a thin white robe, she seemed
more shapely than usual. Pan Stanislav, looking at her, thought that
she might have a heart which was dry enough, and a dry enough head,
but she could be a genteel wife, especially for Mashko, who valued
social gentility above everything else. Their manner toward each other
seemed like a cool and pale day, in which the sun does not burn, but
in which also a storm is not threatening. They were sitting at the end
of the drawing-room, not too near, but also not too far, from the rest
of the company; they occupied themselves with each other no more and
no less than was proper. In his conversation with her as much feeling
was evident as was required, but, above all, the wish to appear a
"correct" betrothed; she paid him on her part in the same coin. They
smiled at each other in a friendly way. He, as the future leader and
head of the house, spoke more than she; sometimes they looked into each
other's eyes,--in a word, they formed the most correct and exemplary
couple of betrothed people that could be imagined, in the society
sense of the term. "I should not have held out," said Pan Stanislav to
himself. Suddenly he remembered that while she was sitting there in
conventional repose, white, smiling, the poor little doctor, who could
not "tear his soul from her," was in equal repose somewhere between
the tropics turning to dust, under the ground, forgotten, as if he had
never existed; and anger bore him away. Not only did he feel contempt
for the heart of Mashko's betrothed, but that repose of hers seemed
now bad taste to him,--a species of spiritual deadness, which once had
been fashionable, and which, since they saw in it something demonic,
the poets had struck with their thunderbolts, and which, in time, had
grown vulgar, and dropped to be moral nonentity and folly. "First of
all, she is a goose, and, moreover, a goose with no heart," thought
Pan Stanislav. At that moment Mashko's alarm at the noble conduct of
those ladies grew clear to him to such a degree that Mashko rose in his
esteem as a man of acuteness.
Then he fell to comparing his own betrothed with Panna Kraslavski,
and said to himself with great satisfaction, "Marynia is a different
species altogether." He felt that he was resting mentally while looking
at her. In so much as the other seemed, as it were, an artificial
plant, reared, not in broad fresh currents of air, but under glass,
in that much did there issue from this one life and warmth, and still
the comparison came out to the advantage of Marynia, even in respect
to society. Pan Stanislav did not overlook altogether "distinction,"
so-called, understanding that, if not always, it frequently answers to
a certain mental finish, especially in women. Looking now at one, now
at the other, he came to the conviction that that finish which Panna
Kraslavski had was something acquired and enslaving, with Marynia
it was innate. In the one it was a garment thrown on outside; in
the other, the soul,--a kind of natural trait in a species ennobled
through long ages of culture. Taking from Bukatski's views as many
as he needed,--that is, as many as were to the point,--Pan Stanislav
remembered that he had said frequently that women, without reference
to their origin, are divided into patricians, who have culture,
principles, and spiritual needs, which have entered the blood, and
parvenues, who dress in them, as in mantillas, to go visiting. At
present, while looking at the noble profile of Marynia, Pan Stanislav
thought, with the vanity of a little townsman who is marrying a
princess, that he was taking a patrician in the high sense of the word;
and, besides, a very beautiful patrician.
Frequently women need only some field, and a little luck, to bloom
forth. Marynia, who seemed almost ugly to Pan Stanislav when he was
returning from the burial of Litka, astonished him now, at times, with
her beauty. Near her Panna Kraslavski seemed like a faded robe near a
new one; and if the fortune of Panna Plavitski had been on a level with
her looks, she would have passed, beyond doubt, for a beauty. As it
was, the five brothers, putting their glasses on their equine noses,
looked at her with a certain admiration; and Baron Kot, of Dembna,
declared confidentially that her betrothal was real luck, for had it
not taken place, who knows but he might have rushed in.
Pan Stanislav could note also that evening one trait of his own
character which he had not suspected,--jealousy. Since he was convinced
that Marynia was a perfectly reliable woman, who might be trusted
blindly, that jealousy was simply illogical. In his time he had been
jealous of Mashko, and that could be understood; but now he could
not explain why Kopovski, for example, with his head of an archangel
and his brains of a bird, could annoy him, just because he sat next
to Marynia, and doubtless was asking her more or less pertinent
questions, to which she was answering more or less agreeably. At first
he reproached himself. "Still, it would be difficult to ask her not to
speak to him!" Afterward he found that Marynia turned to Kopovski too
frequently, and answered too agreeably. At supper, while sitting next
her, he was silent and irritated; and when she asked the reason, he
answered most inappropriately,--
"I have no wish to spoil the impression which Pan Kopovski produced on
you."
But she was pleased that he was jealous; contracting the corners of her
mouth to suppress laughter, and looking at him sedately, she answered,--
"Do you find, too, that there is something uncommon in Pan Kopovski?"
"Of course, of course! When he walks the streets even, it seems that he
is carrying his head into fresh air, lest the moths might devour it."
The corners of Marynia's mouth bore the test, but her eyes laughed
evidently; at last, unable to endure, she said, in a low voice,--
"Outrageously jealous!"
"I? Not the least!"
"Well, I will give you an extract from our conversation. You know that
yesterday there was a case of catalepsy during the concert; to-day
they were talking of that near us; then, among other things, I asked
Pan Kopovski if he had seen the cataleptic person. Do you know what he
answered? 'Each of us may have different convictions.' Well, now, isn't
he uncommon?"
Pan Stanislav was pacified, and began to laugh.
"But I tell you that he simply doesn't understand what is said to him,
and answers anything."
They passed the rest of the evening with each other in good agreement.
At the time of parting, when the Plavitskis, having a carriage with
seats for only two persons, were unable to take Pan Stanislav, Marynia
turned to him and inquired,--
"Will the cross, whimsical man come to-morrow to dine with us?"
"He will, for he loves," answered Pan Stanislav, covering her feet with
the robe.
She whispered into his ear, as it were great news, "And I too."
And although he at the moment of speaking was perfectly sincere, she
spoke more truth. Mashko conducted Pan Stanislav home. On the road they
talked of the reception. Mashko said that before the arrival of guests
he had tried to speak to Pani Kraslavski of business, but had not
succeeded.
"There was a moment," said he, "when I thought to put the question
plainly, dressing it of course in the most delicate form. But I was
afraid. Finally, why have I doubts of the dower of my betrothed? Only
because those ladies treat me with more consideration than I expected.
As a humor, that is very good; but I fear to push matters too far, for
suppose that my fears turn out vain, suppose they have money really,
and are incensed because my curiosity is too selfish. It is necessary
to count with this also, for I may be wrecked at the harbor."
"Well, then," answered Pan Stanislav, "admit this, and for that matter
it is likely that they have; but if it should turn out that they
have not, what then? Hast a plan ready? Wilt thou break with Panna
Kraslavski, or wilt thou marry her?"
"I will not break with her in any case, for I should not gain by it. If
my marriage does not take place, I shall be a bankrupt. But if it does,
I will state my financial position precisely, and suppose that Panna
Kraslavski will break with me."
"But if she does not, and has no money?"
"I shall love her, and come to terms with my creditors. I shall cease
to 'pretend,' as thy phrase is, and try to win bread for us both; I am
not a bad advocate, as thou knowest."
"That is fairly good," answered Pan Stanislav, "but that does not
pacify me touching the Plavitskis and myself."
"Thou and they are in a better position than others, for ye have a lien
on Kremen. In a given case thou wilt take everything in thy firm grasp,
and squeeze out something. It is worse for those who have trusted my
word; and I tell thee to thy eyes that I am concerned more for them. I
had, and I have great credit even now. That is my tender point. But if
they give me time, I will come out somehow. If I had a little happiness
at home, and a motive there for labor--"
They came now to Pan Stanislav's house, so Mashko did not finish his
thought. At the moment of parting, however, he said suddenly,--
"Listen to me. In thy eyes I am somewhat crooked; I am much less so
than seems to thee. I have _pretended_, as thou sayst, it is true! I
had to wriggle out, like an eel, and in those wrigglings I slipped
sometimes from the beaten road. But I am tired, and tell thee plainly
that I wish a little happiness, for I have not had it. Therefore I
wanted to marry thy betrothed, though she is without property. As to
Panna Kraslavski, dost thou know that there are moments when I should
prefer that she had nothing, but, to make up, that she would not drop
me when she knows that I too have nothing. I say this sincerely--and
now good-night."
"Well," said Pan Stanislav to himself, "this is something new in
Mashko." And he entered the gate. Standing at the door, he was
astonished to hear the piano in his apartments. The servant said that
Bigiel had been waiting two hours for him.
Pan Stanislav was alarmed, but thought that if something unfavorable
had caused his presence, he would not play on the piano. In fact, it
turned out that Bigiel was in haste merely to get Pan Stanislav's
signature for an affair which had to be finished early next morning.
"Thou mightest have left the paper, and gone to bed," said Pan
Stanislav.
"I slept awhile on thy sofa, then sat at the piano. Once I played on
the piano as well as on the violin, but now my fingers are clumsy. Thy
Marynia plays probably; such music in the house is a nice thing."
Pan Stanislav laughed with a sincere, well-wishing laugh.
"My Marynia? My Marynia possesses the evangelical talent: her left hand
does not know what her right hand is doing. Poor dear woman! She has no
pretensions; and she plays only when I beg her to do so."
"Thou art as it were laughing at her," said Bigiel; "but only those who
are in love laugh in that way."
"Because I am in love most completely. At least it seems so now to me;
and in general I must say that it seems so to me oftener and oftener.
Wilt thou have tea?"
"Yes. Thou hast come from Pani Kraslavski's?"
"I have."
"How is Mashko? Will he struggle to shore?"
"I parted with him a moment ago. He came with me to the gate. He says
things at times that I should not expect from him."
Pan Stanislav, glad to have some one to talk with, and feeling the need
of intimate converse, began to tell what he had heard from Mashko; and
how much he was astonished at finding a man of romantic nature under
the skin of a person of his kind.
"Mashko is not a bad man," said Bigiel. "He is only on the road to
various evasions; and the cause of that is his vanity and respect for
appearances. But, on the other hand, that respect for appearances saves
him from final fall. As to the man of romance, which thou hast found in
him--"
Here Bigiel cut off the end of a cigar, lighted it with great
deliberation, wrinkling his brows at the same time, and, sitting down
comfortably, continued,--
"Bukatski would have given on that subject ten ironical paradoxes about
our society. Now something stuck in my head that he told me, when he
attacked us because always we love some one or something. It seems to
him that this is foolish and purposeless; but I see in this a great
trait. It is necessary to become something in the world; and what have
we? Money we have not; intellect, so-so; the gift of making our way
in a position, not greatly; management, little. We have in truth this
yet--that almost involuntarily, through some general disposition, we
love something or somebody; and if we do not love, we feel the need
of love. Thou knowest that I am a man of deliberation and a merchant,
hence I speak soberly. I call attention to this because of Bukatski.
Mashko, for instance, in some other country, would be a rogue from
under a dark star; and I know many such. But here even beneath the
trickster thou canst scratch to the man; and that is simple, for, in
the last instance, while a man has some spark in his breast yet, he is
not a beast utterly; and with us he has the spark, precisely for this
reason, that he loves something."
"Thou bringest Vaskovski to my mind. What thou art saying is not far
from his views concerning the mission of the youngest of the Aryans."
"What is Vaskovski to me? I say what I think. I know one thing: take
that from us, and we should fly apart, like a barrel without hoops."
"Well, listen to what I will tell thee. This is a thing decided in my
mind rather long since. To love, or not to love some one, is a personal
question; but I understand that it is needful to love something in
life. I too have meditated over this. After the death of that child,
I felt that the devil had taken certain sides of me; sometimes I feel
that yet. Not to-day; but there are times--how can I tell thee?--times
of ebb, exhaustion, doubts. And if, in spite of this, I marry, it is
because I understand that it is necessary to have a living and strong
foundation under a more general love."
"For that, and not for that," answered Bigiel the inexorable in
judgment, "for thou are marrying not at all from purely mental reasons.
Thou art taking a comely and honest young woman, to whom thou art
attracted; and do not persuade thyself that it is otherwise, or thou
wilt begin to pretend. My dear friend, every man has these doubts
before marrying. I, as thou seest, am no philosopher; but ten times
a day I asked myself before marriage, if I loved my future wife well
enough, if I loved her as was necessary, had I not too little soul in
the matter, and too many doubts? God knows what! Afterward I married a
good woman, and it was well for us. It will be well for you too, if ye
take things simply; but that endless searching in the mind and looking
for certain secrets of the heart is folly, God knows."
"Maybe it is folly. I too have no great love for lying on my back and
analyzing from morn in till night; but I cannot help seeing facts."
"What facts?"
"Such facts, for example, as this, that my feeling is not what it was
at first. I think that it will be; I acknowledge that it is going to
that. I marry in spite of these observations, as if they did not exist;
but I make them."
"Thou art free to do so."
"And see what I think besides: still it is necessary that the windows
of a house should look out on the sun; otherwise it will be cold in the
dwelling."
"Thou hast said well," answered Bigiel.