Bigiel persuaded Pan Stanislav emphatically not to extend the house,
and not to throw himself too hurriedly into undertakings of various
sorts. "We have created," said he, "an honorable mercantile firm of a
kind rare in this country; hence we are useful." He maintained that
from gratitude alone they ought to continue a business through which
they had almost doubled their property. At the same time he expressed
the conviction that they would show more sense if at this juncture
specially they managed matters with care and solidly, and that their
first bold speculation, though it had been fortunate, should not only
not entice them to others, but should be the last.
Pan Stanislav agreed that it was necessary to show moderation,
especially in success; but he complained that he could not find a
career in the house, and that he wanted to produce something. He had
common-sense enough not to think yet of a factory on his own capital.
"I do not wish to carry on a small one," said he, "since a large one
producing _en gros_ attracts me, and I have not capital for it; one
with shares, I should be working not for myself, but for others." He
understood, too, that it was not easy to find shareholders among the
local elements, and he did not want strangers; he knew, moreover, that
he could not rouse confidence in them, and that his name alone would
be a hindrance. Bigiel, for whom it was a question of the "house," was
sincerely pleased with this sobriety of view.
In Pan Stanislav was roused still another desire, which is as old as
man,--the desire of possession. After the lucky grain speculation and
the will of Bukatski, he was quite wealthy; but with all his real
sobriety, he had a certain strange feeling that that wealth, consisting
even of the most reliable securities shut up in fire-proof safes, was
just paper, and would remain so till he owned something real, of which
he could say, "This is mine." That strange desire was seizing him with
growing force. For him it was not a question of anything great, but
of some corner of his own, where he might feel at home. He tried to
philosophize over this, and to explain to Bigiel that such a desire
of ownership must be some inborn passion which might be repressed,
but which, in riper age, would appear with new strength. Bigiel
acknowledged that that might be true, and said,--
"That is proper. Thou art married, hence hast the wish to have thy own
hearth, not a hired one; and since thou hast the means, then make such
a hearth for thyself."
Pan Stanislav had been thinking for some time of building a large house
in the city,--a house which would satisfy his desire of ownership,
and also bring income. But one day he noted a bad side in this
practical project,--namely, it had no charm. It is necessary to love
that something of which he said, "It is mine;" and how love a brick
building, in which any one may live who will hire lodgings. At first he
was ashamed of this thought, for it seemed sentimental; but afterward
he said to himself, "No; since I have means, it is not only not
sentimental to use them in a way which will assure satisfaction, but a
proof of judgment." He was more attracted by the thought of a smaller
house in the city, or outside the city,--one in which only he and his
wife would live. But he wanted with it even a piece of land on which
something would grow; he felt, for example, that the sight of trees
growing in his garden or before his house, on his land, would cause him
great pleasure; he was astonished himself that this was so, but it was.
At last he came to the conviction that it would be more agreeable to
have some little place near the city, something in the style of that
summer house which Bigiel owned, but with a piece of land, a piece of
forest, some acres of garden, finally, with grounds, and with a stork's
nest somewhere on an old linden-tree.
"Since I have means to get it, I prefer it to be thus, not
otherwise,--that is, to be beautiful, not ugly," said he.
And he began to consider the affair on every side. He understood that
since it was a question of a nest in which he was to live out his
life, he ought to select with care; hence he did not hurry. Meanwhile
meditation over this occupied all his hours free from counting-house
toil, and caused him real pleasure. Various people learned soon that
Pan Stanislav was seeking to buy with ready money; hence propositions
came from various sides, often strange, but at times attractive.
On occasions he had to drive to villas in the city, or outside it.
Frequently, after his return from the counting-house, or after dinner,
Pan Stanislav shut himself in with plans, with papers, and came out
only in the evening. In those days Marynia had much leisure. She noted
at last that something occupied him unusually, and tried to learn what
it was by questioning; but he answered,--
"My child, when there is a result, I will tell thee; but while I know
nothing, it would be difficult to talk about nothing. That is so
opposed to my nature."
She learned at last what the question was from Pani Bigiel, who had
learned it from her husband, to whose nature it was not repugnant to
speak with his wife about all undertakings and plans for the future.
For Marynia it would have been also immensely agreeable to speak with
her husband of everything, and especially of the chance of a nest.
Her eyes laughed at the very thought of that; but since "Stas's"
disposition stood in the way, she preferred through delicacy not to
inquire.
He had no ill-will in this, but simply it did not occur to him to
initiate her into any affair in which there was a question of money. It
might have been otherwise had she brought him a considerable dower, or
had he been forced to manage her property. In such affairs he was very
scrupulous. But since he was managing only his own, he did not feel
now any more than in his past unmarried years any need of confessing,
especially while nothing was determined. With Bigiel alone did he talk,
because he was accustomed to talk with him of business.
With his wife he spoke of things which, according to him, "pertained to
her;" hence, among other things, of the acquaintances which they should
make. Toward the end of his single life he had been scarcely anywhere;
but he felt that at present he could not act thus. They returned,
therefore, visits to the Mashkos; and on a certain evening they began
to consider whether they ought to visit the Osnovskis, who had returned
from abroad, and would remain in Warsaw till the middle of June.
Marynia said that they ought, because they should see them at Pani
Mashko's; and she wished to make a visit, for she liked Pan Osnovski,
who had moved her sympathy. Pan Stanislav seemed less willing, and
the decision was according to his wish at first; but some days later
the Osnovskis met Marynia and greeted her so cordially, Pani Osnovski
repeated so often, "We Roman women," and both put such emphasis on the
hope of seeing and meeting her, that it was not possible to avoid the
visit.
When the visit was made, politeness was shown first of all to Marynia.
The husband vied with his wife in this regard. Like well-bred people,
they were faultlessly polite to Pan Stanislav, but colder. He
understood that Marynia played the first, and he only the second rôle,
and that irritated him a little. Pan Osnovski, for that matter, had no
need to make an effort in being polite to Marynia; for, feeling that
she had for him earnest sympathy, he repaid her with interest, though,
in general, to act thus was not his habit.
He seemed to her more in love with his wife than ever. It was
evident that his heart beat with more life when he was looking at
her. When speaking to her, he seemed to offer his expressions with a
certain fear, as it were, lest he might offend her with something.
Pan Stanislav looked on with a kind of pity; but the sight was also
touching. In his struggle with corpulence, however, Pan Osnovski had
gained such a crushing victory that his clothing seemed too large for
him. The pimples on his blond face had vanished, and, in general, he
was more presentable than he had been.
But the lady had, as ever, her incomparable, sloping violet eyes,
and thoughts, which, like birds of paradise, were playing in the air
continually.
The Polanyetskis made new acquaintances at the Osnovskis,--namely,
Pani Bronich and her sister's daughter, Panna Castelli; these ladies
had arrived for the "summer carnival" in Warsaw, and were living in
the same villa, which the late Pan Bronich had sold to the Osnovskis,
with the reservation of one pavilion for his wife. Pani Bronich was a
widow after Pan Bronich, whom she mentioned as the last relative of the
Princes Ostrogski, and as the last descendant of Rurik. She was known
in the city also under the title of "Sweetness;" for this name she was
indebted to the fact that, when talking, especially to persons whom she
needed, she became so pleasing that it seemed as if she were speaking
through a lump of sugar held in her mouth. Marvels were told of her
lies. Panna Castelli was the daughter of Pani Bronich's sister, who, in
her day, to the great offence of her family and of society, married an
Italian, a music-teacher, and died in labor, leaving a daughter. When,
a year later, Pan Castelli was drowned at Venice, in the Lido, Pani
Bronich took her niece, and reared her.
Panna Lineta was a beauty, with very regular features, blue eyes,
golden hair, and a complexion too fair, for it was almost like
porcelain. Her eyelids were rather heavy; this gave her a dreamy look,
but that dreaminess might seem also concentration. It might be supposed
that she was a person who led an immensely developed inner life, and
hence bore herself indifferently toward all that surrounded her. If
any man had not come on that idea unaided, he might be sure that Pani
Bronich would help him. Pani Osnovski, who had passed through the
grades of enchantment over her cousin, said of Lineta's eyes, "They are
as deep as lakes." The only question was what is at the bottom; and it
was precisely this secret which gave her charm to the young lady.
The Osnovskis came with the intention of remaining in Warsaw; but Pani
Aneta had not seen Rome in vain. "Art, and art!" said she to Pani
Marynia; "I wish to know of nothing else." Her professed plan was to
open an "Athenian" salon; but her secret one was to become the Beatrice
of some Dante, the Laura of some Petrarch, or, at least, something in
the nature of Vittoria Colonna for some Michael Angelo.
"We have a nice garden with the villa," said she. "The evenings will
be beautiful, and we shall pass them in such Roman and Florentine
conversations. You know" (here she raised her hands to the height
of her shoulders, and began to move them), "the gray hour, a little
twilight, a little moonlight, a few lamps, a few shadows from the
trees; we shall sit and talk in an undertone about everything,--life,
feelings, art. In truth, that is worth more than gossip! My Yozio,
perhaps thou wilt be annoyed; but be not angry, do this for my sake,
and, believe me, it will be very nice."
"But, my Anetka, can I be annoyed by what pleases thee?"
"Especially now, while Lineta is with us; she is an artist in every
drop of her blood."
Here she turned to Lineta. "What fine thread is that head spinning now?
What dost thou say of such Roman evenings?"
Lineta smiled dreamily; and the widow of "Rurik's last descendant"
began to speak, with an expression of indescribable sweetness, to Pan
Stanislav,--
"You do not know that Victor Hugo blessed her when she was yet a little
girl."
"Then did you ladies know Victor Hugo?" asked Marynia.
"We? no! I would not know him for anything in the world; but once, when
we were going through Passy, he stood on a balcony, and I know not
whether through something prophetic, or through inspiration, the moment
he set eyes on Lineta, he raised his hand and blessed her."
"Aunt!" said Panna Castelli.
"When it is true, my child; and what is true, is true! I called at
once to her, 'See, see! he is raising his hand!' and Pan Tsardyn, the
consul, who was sitting on the front seat, saw also that he raised his
hand, and gave a blessing. I tell this freely, for perhaps the Lord God
forgave him his sins, of which he had many, because of this blessing.
He was of such perverse mind; and still, when he saw Lineta, he blessed
her."
There was in the tale this much truth,--those ladies, while going
through Passy, really saw Victor Hugo on a balcony. As to the blessing
which they said he gave Lineta, malicious tongues in Warsaw declared
that he raised his hand because he was yawning at the moment.
Meanwhile Pani Aneta continued,--
"We'll make for ourselves here a little Italy; and should the attempt
fail, next winter we'll escape to the great one. It has entered my head
already to open a house in Rome. Meantime Yozio has bought a number of
nice copies of statues and paintings. That was so worthy on his part,
for he doesn't care much about them; he did this only for me. There
are very good things among them; for Yozio had the wit not to trust
himself, and begged the aid of Pan Svirski. It is a pity that they
are not here; it is a pity, too, that Pan Bukatski died, as it were,
through perversity, for he would have been useful. At times he was very
nice; he had a certain subtlety, snake-like, and that in conversation,
gives life. But" (here she turned to Marynia) "do you know that you
have conquered Pan Svirski utterly? After you had left Rome, he talked
of no one else, and he has begun a Madonna with your features. You'll
become a Fornarina! Evidently you have luck with artists; and when my
Florentine evenings begin, Lineta and I must be careful,--if not, we
shall go to the corner."
But Pani Bronich, casting hostile glances at Marynia, said,--
"If it is a question of faces which make an impression on artists, I'll
tell the company what happened once in Nice."
"Aunt!" interrupted Panna Castelli.
"But if it is true, my child; and what's true, is true! A year ago--no!
two years ago--Oh, how time flies!--"
But Pani Aneta, who had heard more than once, surely, what had happened
at Nice, began to inquire of Marynia,--
"But have you many acquaintances in the world of artists?"
"My husband has," answered Marynia, "I have not; but we know Pan
Zavilovski."
Pani Aneta fell into real enthusiasm at this news. It was her dream
to know Zavilovski, and let "Yozio" say if it was not her dream. Not
long before, she and Lineta had read his verses entitled "Ex imo;"
and Lineta, who, at times, knows how to describe an impression with
one word, as no one else can, said,--what is it that she said so
characteristic?
"That there was in that something bronze-like," added Pani Bronich.
"Yes, something bronze-like; I imagined to myself also Pan Zavilovski
as something cast. How does he look in reality?"
"He is short, fat, fifty years old," said Pan Stanislav, "and has no
hair on his head."
At this the faces of Pani Aneta and Lineta took on such an expression
of disenchantment that Marynia laughed, and said,--
"Do not believe him, ladies; he is malicious, and likes to torment. Pan
Zavilovski is young, somewhat shy, a little like Wagner."
"That means that he has a chin like Punch," added Pan Stanislav.
But Pani Aneta paid no heed to Pan Stanislav's words, and obtained from
Marynia a promise to make her acquainted with Pan Zavilovski, and soon,
"very soon, for summer is at the girdle!"
"We will try to make it pleasant for him among us, and that he
shouldn't be shy; though, if he is a little shy, that is no harm, for
he ought to be, and, like an eagle in a cage, withdraw when people
approach him. But we will come to an understanding with Lineta; she,
too, is wrapped up in herself, and is as mysterious as a sphinx."
"It seems to me that every uncommon soul--" began Aunt Sweetness.
But the Polanyetskis rose to go. In the entrance they met the wonderful
Kopovski, whose shoes the servants were dusting, and who was arranging
meanwhile the hair on his statuesque head, which was as solid as
marble. When outside, Pan Stanislav remarked,--
"He, too, will be useful for their 'Florentine' evenings; he, too, is a
sphinx."
"If he were to stand in a niche," said Marynia. "But what beautiful
women they are!"
"It is a wonderful thing," answered Pan Stanislav, "though Pani
Osnovski is good-looking, I, for example, prefer Pani Mashko as a
beauty. As to Castelli, she is, in truth, beautiful, though too tall.
Hast thou noticed how they speak of her all the time, but she not a
word?"
"She has a very intelligent opinion," answered Marynia, "but is,
perhaps, a little timid, like poor Zavilovski."
"It is necessary to think of arranging for that acquaintance."
But an accident disturbed these plans of making the acquaintance.
Marynia, on the day following this visit, slipped on the stone stairs,
and struck her knee against the step with such violence that she had to
lie in bed several days. Pan Stanislav, on returning from the office,
learned what had happened. Alarmed at first, then pacified by the
doctor, he upbraided his wife rather sharply.
"Thou shouldst remember that it may be a question not of thee alone,"
said he.
She suffered severely from the fall and from these words, which seemed
to her too unsparing; for she considered that with him it should above
all be a question of her, especially as other fears were baseless so
far. Aside from this, he showed great attention; neither on the next
nor the following day did he go to the counting-house, but remained
to take care of her. In the forenoon he read to her; after lunch, he
worked in the adjoining room with open doors, so that she might call
him at any moment. Affected by this care, she thanked him very warmly;
in return he kissed her, and said,--
"My child, it is a simple duty. Thou seest that even strangers inquire
about thee daily."
In fact, strangers did inquire daily. Zavilovski inquired in the
counting-house, "How does the lady feel?" Pani Bigiel came in the
forenoon, and Bigiel in the evening; without going to the chamber of
the sick woman, he played on the piano in the next room to entertain
her. The Mashkos and Pani Bronich left cards twice. Pani Osnovski,
leaving her husband in the carriage below, broke into Marynia a little
by violence, and sat with her about two hours, talking, with her usual
gift of jumping from subject to subject, of Rome, of her intended
evenings, of Svirski, of her husband, of Lineta, and of Zavilovski, who
didn't let her sleep. Toward the end of the visit, she declared that
they ought to say _thou_ to each other, and that she invited Marynia
to give aid in one plan: "that is, not a plan, but a conspiracy;" or,
rather, in a certain thing which had so struck into her head that it
was burning, and burning to such a degree that her whole head was on
fire.
"That Zavilovski has so stuck in my mind that Yozio has begun to be
jealous of him; but in the end of the affair, Yozio, poor fellow,
doesn't know himself what to think. I am sure that he and Lineta are
created for each other,--not Yozio and Lineta, but Zavilovski and
Lineta. That poetry, that poetry! And don't laugh, Marynia; don't think
me moonstruck. Thou dost not know Lineta. She needs some uncommon man.
She wouldn't marry Kopovski for anything, though Kopovski looks like an
archangel. Such a face as Kopovski has, I have never seen in life. In
Italy, perhaps, in some picture, and even then not. Knowest thou what
Lineta says of him?--'C'est un imbécile.' But still she looks at him.
Think how beautiful that would be, if they should become acquainted,
and love, and take each other,--that is, not Kopovski and Lineta,
but Zavilovski and Lineta. That would be a couple! Lineta, with her
aspirations, whom can she find? Where is there a man for her? What we
have seen, that we have seen. I imagine how they would live. It is so
wearisome in the world that when it is possible to have such a plan, it
is worth while to work for it. Moreover, I know that that will succeed
without difficulty, for Aunt Bronich is wringing her hands,--where can
she find a husband for Lineta? I am afraid that I have worn thee out,
and surely I have tormented thee; but it is so nice to talk, especially
when one is making some plan."
In fact, Marynia felt, as it were, a turning of the head after Pani
Aneta had gone. Still when Pan Stanislav came in, she told him of the
plans prepared against Zavilovski, and, laughing a little at the
eagerness of Pani Aneta, said at last,--
"She must have a good heart, and she pleases me; but what an
enthusiast! What is there that doesn't rush through her head?"
"She is impetuous, but no enthusiast," answered Pan Stanislav; "and see
what the difference is,--enthusiasm comes almost always from the warmth
of a good heart, while impetuousness frequently agrees with a dry
heart, and often comes even from this, that the head is hot, and the
heart is asleep."
"Thou hast no liking for Pani Aneta," said Marynia.
Pan Stanislav did not indeed like her; but this time, instead of
confirming or contradicting, he looked at his wife with a certain
curiosity, and that moment her beauty struck him,--her hair flowing
in disorder on the pillow, and her small face coming out of the dark
waves, just like a flower. Her eyes seemed bluer than usual; through
her open mouth was to be seen the row of small white teeth. Pan
Stanislav approached her, and said in an undertone,--
"How beautiful thou art to-day!"
And, bending over her, with changed face, he fell to kissing her eyes
and mouth.
But every kiss moved her, and each movement caused pain. It was
disagreeable, besides, that he had noticed her beauty as if by
accident; his expression of face was distasteful to her, and his
inattention; therefore she turned away her head.
"Stas, do not kiss me so roughly; thou knowest that I am suffering."
Then he stood erect, and said with suppressed anger,--
"True; I beg pardon."
And he went to his room to examine the plan of a certain summer house
with a garden, which had been sent to him that morning.