But Marynia's illness was not lasting, and a week later she and her
husband were able to visit the Bigiels, who had moved to their summer
residence; for the weather, notwithstanding the early season, was fine,
and in the city summer heats were almost beginning. Zavilovski, who had
grown accustomed to them, went also, taking an immense kite, which he
was to fly in company with Pan Stanislav and the children. The Bigiels,
too, liked Zavilovski, since he was simple, and, except his shyness,
a pleasant man, on occasions even childlike. Pani Bigiel maintained,
moreover, that he had a peculiar head; which was in so far true, that
he had a scar on his eyelid, and that his prominent chin gave him an
expression of energy which was contradicted utterly by his upper face,
which was delicate, almost feminine. At first Pani Bigiel sought in him
an original; but he mastered everything, and therefore himself, too
quickly. He was simply a great enthusiast of unequal temper, because he
was timid; and he was not without hidden pride.
At dinner they mentioned the Osnovskis to him, and the projected
Athenian-Roman-Florentine evenings, Panna Castelli, and the curiosity
which he had roused in the ladies. When he heard this, he said,--
"Oh, it is well to know that; I shall not go there now for anything in
the world."
"You will make their acquaintance first at our house," said Marynia.
"I shall escape from the entrance," said he, clasping his hands.
"Why?" asked Pan Stanislav. "It is needful to have the courage not only
of one's convictions, but of one's verses."
"Evidently," said Pani Bigiel. "What is there to be ashamed of? I
should look people in the eyes boldly and say: I write; yes, I write."
"I write; yes, I write," repeated Zavilovski, raising his head and
laughing.
But Marynia continued: "You will make their acquaintance at our house;
then you will leave your card with them, and after that we will visit
them some evening."
"I cannot hide my head in snow," said he, "because there is none; but
I'll find some place of hiding."
"But if I entreat you greatly?"
"Then I will go," answered Zavilovski, after a while, blushing
slightly; and he looked at her.
Her face, somewhat pale after protracted lying in bed, had become more
delicate, and looked like the face of a maiden of sixteen. She seemed
so wonderful to the young man that he could refuse her nothing.
In the evening, Pan Stanislav was to take him back to the city; but
before that Marynia said to him,--
"Now you must be constrained, for you have not seen Panna Lineta
Castelli; but as soon as you have seen her, you will fall in love."
"I, Pani?" cried Zavilovski, putting his hand on his breast; "I, with
Panna Castelli?"
And there was so much sincerity in his question that he was confused
again; but this time Marynia herself was confused somewhat.
Meantime Pan Stanislav has finished his conversation with Bigiel about
the dangers of investing capital in land, and they drive away. Marynia
remembers how once she returned with her father, Pani Emilia, Litka,
and Pan Stanislav from the Bigiels, in a moonlight night such as this;
how "Pan Stanislav" was in love with her then; how unhappy he was; how
severe she was with him; and her heart begins to beat with pity for
that "Pan Stanislav," who suffered so much on a time. She wants to
nestle up to him and implore pardon for those evil moments of the past;
and but for the presence of Zavilovski, she would do so.
But that old-time Pan Stanislav is sitting there calm and
self-confident at her side, and smoking his cigar. Moreover, she is
his; he has taken her and has her; all is over.
"Of what art thou thinking, Stas?" inquired she.
"Of the business of which I was talking with Bigiel."
And, shaking the ashes from his cigar, he replaced it in his mouth, and
drew so vigorously that a ruddy gleam lighted his mustache and a part
of his face.
Zavilovski, looking at Marynia's face, thought in his young soul that
if she were his wife he would not smoke a cigar, nor think of business
of which he had been talking with Bigiel, but might kneel before her
and adore her on his knees.
And gradually, under the influence of the night and that sweet womanly
face, which he glorified, exaltation possessed him. After a time he
began to declaim, at first in silence, as if to himself, then more
audibly, his verses entitled, "Snows on the Mountains." There was in
that poem, as it were, an immense yearning for something unapproachable
and immaculate. Zavilovski himself did not know when they arrived in
the city, and when lamps began to gleam on both sides of the street. At
Pan Stanislav's house Marynia said,--
"To-morrow, then, to a five o'clock."
"Yes," answered he, kissing her hand.
Marynia was sunk somewhat in revery under the influence of the ride,
the night, and maybe the verses. But from the time of their stay
in Rome, she and her husband had repeated the rosary together. And
after these prayers a great tenderness possessed her suddenly,--as it
were, an influx of feeling, hidden for a time by other impressions.
Approaching him, she put her arms around his neck, and whispered,--
"My Stas, but we feel so pleasant together, do we not?"
He drew her toward him, and answered with a certain careless
boastfulness,--
"But do I complain?"
And it did not occur to him that there was in her question something
like a shade of doubt and sorrow, which she did not like to admit to
her soul, and desired him to calm and convince her.
Next morning in the office Zavilovski gave Pan Stanislav a cutting from
some paper of "Snows on the Mountains;" he read it during dinner, but
with the sound of forks the verses seemed less beautiful than amid the
night stillness and in moonlight.
"Zavilovski told me," said Pan Stanislav, "that a volume would be
issued soon; but he has promised to collect first everything printed in
various journals, and bring it to thee."
"No," said Marynia; "he should keep them for Lineta."
"Ah, they are to meet to-morrow for the first time. Ye wish absolutely
to make an epoch in Zavilovski's life?"
"We do," answered Marynia, with decisiveness. "Aneta astonished me at
first; but why not?"
Indeed, the meeting took place. The Osnovskis, Pani Bronich, and Panna
Castelli came very punctually at five; Zavilovski had come still
earlier, to avoid entering a room in presence of a whole society. But
as it was he was not only frightened, but more awkward than usual,
and never had his legs seemed so long to him. There was, however, a
certain distinction even in his awkwardness; and Pani Aneta was able to
see that. The first scenes of the human comedy began, in which those
ladies, as well-bred persons, guarding against every rudeness and
staring at Zavilovski, did not, however, do anything else; he, feigning
not to see this, was not thinking of anything else than how they were
looking at him and judging him. This caused him great constraint, which
he strove to hide by artificial freedom; he had so much self-love,
however, that he was interested in having the judgment favorable. But
the ladies were so attuned previously that the decision could not be
unfavorable; and even had Zavilovski turned out flat and dull it would
have been taken for wisdom and poetic originality: More indifferent was
the bearing of Lineta, who was somewhat astonished that for the moment,
not she was the sun, and Zavilovski the moon, but the contrary. The
first impression which he made on her was: "What comparison with that
stupid Kopovski!"
And the incomparable, wonderful face of that "stupid" stood before
her eyes as if living; therefore her lids became dreamier still, and
the expression of her face called to mind a sphinx in porcelain more
than ever. She is irritated, however, that Zavilovski turns almost no
attention to her form of a Juno, nor to that something "mysterious and
poetic," which, as Pani Bronich insists, fetters one from the first
glance. She begins to observe him gradually; and, having, besides
her poetic inclination, the sense of social observation developed
powerfully, she sees that he has much expression indeed, but that his
coat fits badly, that he dresses, of course, at a poor tailor's, and
that the pin in his cravat is mauvais genre simply. Meanwhile he casts
occasional glances at Marynia, as the one near and friendly soul, and
converses with Pani Aneta, who considers it as the highest tact not
to mention poetry on first acquaintance, and, knowing that Zavilovski
had passed the early years of his childhood in the country, begins to
chatter about her inclinations for rural life. Her husband prefers
the city always, having his friends and pleasures in the city, but as
to her!--"Oh, I am sincere, and I confess at once that I cannot endure
land management and accounts; for this I have been scolded more than
once. Besides, I am a trifle lazy; therefore I should like work in
which I could be lazy. What should I like, then?"
Here she spreads out her extended fingers so as to count more easily
the occupations which would suit her taste:
"First, I should like to herd geese!"
Zavilovski laughs; she seems to him natural, and, besides, the picture
of Pani Osnovski herding geese amuses him.
Her violet eyes begin to laugh also; and she falls into the tone of a
free and joyous maiden, who talks of everything which runs through her
head.
"And you would like that?" inquires she of Zavilovski.
"Passionately."
"Ah, you see! What else? I should like to be a fisherman. The morning
dawn must be reflected beautifully in the water. Then the damp nets
before the cottage, with films of water between the meshes of the net.
If not a fisherman, I should like to be at least a heron, and meditate
in the water on one leg, or a lapwing in the fields. But no! the
lapwing is a sad kind of bird, as if in mourning."
Here she turned to Panna Castelli,--
"Lineta, what wouldst thou like to be in the country?"
Panna Lineta raised her lids, and answered after a while,--
"A spider-web."
The imagination of Zavilovski as a poet was touched by this answer.
Suddenly a great yellow sweep of stubble stood before his eyes, with
silver threads floating in the calm blue and in the sun.
"Ah, what a pretty picture!" said he.
He looked more carefully at Lineta; and she smiled, as if in
thankfulness that he had felt the beauty of the image.
But at that moment the Bigiels came. Pani Bronich took Zavilovski into
her sphere of influence, and so hemmed him in with her chair that he
had no chance to escape. It was easy to divine the subject of their
dialogue, for Zavilovski raised his eyes from time to time to Lineta,
as if to convince himself that he was looking at that about which he
was hearing. At last, though the conversation was conducted in subdued
tones, those present heard these words, spoken as if through sugar,--
"Do you know that Napoleon--that is, I wanted to say Victor
Hugo--blessed her?"
In general, Zavilovski had heard so many uncommon things that he might
look at Lineta with a certain curiosity. She had been, according to
those narratives, the most marvellous child in the world, always very
gentle, and not strong. At ten years she had been very ill; sea air was
prescribed, and those ladies dwelt a long time on Stromboli.
"The child looked at the volcano, at the sea, and clapped her little
hands, repeating, 'Beautiful, beautiful!' We went there by chance,
wandered in on a hired yacht, without object; it was difficult to stay
long, for that is an empty island. There was no proper place to live
in, and not much to eat; but she, as if with foreknowledge that she
would regain her health there, would not leave for anything. In fact,
in a month, and if not in a month, in two, she began to be herself, and
see what a reed she is."
In fact, Lineta, though shapely and not too large, in stature was
somewhat taller than Pani Aneta. Zavilovski looked at her with growing
interest. Before the guests separated, when he was freed at last from
imprisonment, he approached her, and said,--
"I have never seen a volcano, and I have no idea what impression it may
make."
"I know only Vesuvius," answered she; "but when I saw it there was no
eruption."
"But Stromboli?"
"I do not know it."
"Then I have heard incorrectly, for--your aunt--"
"Yes," answered Lineta, "I don't remember; I was small, I suppose."
And on her face displeasure and confusion were reflected.
Before she took leave, Pani Aneta, without destroying her rôle of
charming prattler, invited Zavilovski for some evening, "without
ceremony and without a dress-coat, for such a spring might be
considered summer, and in summer freedom is the most agreeable. That
such a man as you does not like new acquaintances, I know, but for that
there is a simple remedy: consider us old acquaintances. We are alone
most generally. Lineta reads something, or tells what passes through
her head; and such various things pass through her head that it is
worth while to hear her, especially for a person who beyond others is
in a position to feel and understand her."
Panna Lineta pressed his hand at parting with unusual heartiness, as
if confirming the fact that they could and should understand each
other. Zavilovski, unused to society, was a little dazed by the words,
the rustle of the robes, the eyes of those ladies, and by the odor
of iris which they left behind. He felt besides some weariness, for
that conversation, though free and apparently natural, lacked the
repose which was always found in the words of Pani Polanyetski and
Pani Bigiel. For a time there remained with him the impression of a
disordered dream.
The Bigiels were to stay to dinner. Pan Stanislav therefore kept
Zavilovski. They began to talk of the ladies.
"Well, and Panna Castelli?" asked Marynia.
"They have much imagination," answered Zavilovski, after a moment's
hesitation. "Have you noticed how easy it is for them to speak in
images?"
"But really, what an interesting young lady Lineta is!"
Lineta had not made a great impression on Pan Stanislav; besides, he
was hungry and in a hurry for dinner, so he said somewhat impatiently,--
"What do you see in her? Interesting until she becomes an every-day
subject."
"No; Lineta will not become an every-day person," said Marynia. "Only
those ordinary, simple beings become every-day subjects who know how to
do nothing but love."
To Zavilovski, who looked at her that moment, it seemed that he
detected a shade of sadness. Perhaps, too, she was weak, for her face
had lily tones.
"Are you wearied?" inquired he.
"A little," answered she, smiling.
His young, impressionable heart beat with great sympathy for her. "She
is in truth a lily," thought he; and in comparison with her sweet charm
Pani Osnovski stood before him as a chattering nut-cracker, and Panna
Castelli as the inanimate head of a statue. At first, after sight of
Marynia, he was dreaming of a woman like her; this evening he began to
dream, not of one like her, but of her. And since he was quickly aware
of everything that happened in him, he noticed that she was beginning
to be a "field flower," but a beloved one.
Pan Stanislav, meeting him next day in the counting-room, asked,--
"Well, did the dreamy queen come to you in a vision?"
"No," answered Zavilovski, blushing.
Pan Stanislav, seeing that blush, laughed, and said,--
"Ha! it's difficult! Every one must pass that; I, too, have passed it."