From that time Pan Ignas went every day to Aunt Bronich's. He found
Kopovski there frequently, for toward the end something had been
spoiled in the portrait of "Antinoüs." Lineta said that she had not
been able to bring everything out of that face yet; that the expression
in the picture was not perhaps what it should be,--in a word, she
needed time for reflection. With Pan Ignas her work went more easily.
"With such a head as Pan Kopovski's," said she once, "it is enough to
change the least line, it is enough to have the light wrong, to ruin
everything. While with Pan Zavilovski one must seize first of all the
character."
On hearing this, both were satisfied. Kopovski declared even that it
was not his fault; that God had created him so. Pani Bronich said later
on that Lineta had said apropos of that: "God created him; the Son of
God redeemed him; but the Holy Ghost forgot to illuminate him." That
witticism on poor Kopovski was repeated throughout Warsaw.
Pan Ignas liked him well enough. After a few meetings he seemed to
him so unfathomably stupid that it did not occur to him that any one
could be jealous of the man. On the contrary, it was always pleasant
to look at him. Those ladies too liked him, though they permitted
themselves to jest with him; and sometimes he served them simply as a
ball, which they tossed from hand to hand. Kopovski's stupidity was not
gloomy, however, nor suspicious. He possessed a uniform temper and a
smile really wonderful; of this last he was aware, perhaps, hence he
preferred to smile rather than frown. He was well-bred, accustomed to
society, and dressed excellently; in this regard he might have served
as a model to Pan Ignas.
From time to time he put astonishing questions, which filled the young
ladies with merriment. Once, hearing Pani Bronich talk of poetic
inspirations, he asked Pan Ignas, "If anything was taken for it or
not," and at the first moment confused him, for Pan Ignas did not know
what to answer.
Another time Pani Aneta said to him,--
"Have you ever written poetry? Make some rhyme, then."
Kopovski asked time till next day; but next day he had forgotten the
request, or could not make the verses. The ladies were too well-bred to
remind him of his promise. It was always so agreeable to look at him
that they did not wish to cause him unpleasantness.
Meanwhile spring ended, and the races began. Pan Ignas was invited for
the whole time of their continuance to the carriage of the Osnovskis.
They gave him a place opposite Lineta; and he admired her with all his
soul. In bright dresses, in bright hats, with laughter in her dreamy
eyes, with her calm face flushing somewhat under the breath of fresh
breezes, she seemed to him spring and paradise. Returning home, he had
his eyes full of her, his mind and his heart full. In that world in
which they lived, in the society of those young men, who came up to the
carriage to entertain the ladies, he was not at home, but the sight of
Lineta recompensed him for everything. Under the influence of sunny
days, fair weather, broad summer breezes, and that youthful maiden,
who began to be dear to him, he lived, as it were, in a continuous
intoxication; he felt youth and power in himself. In his face there was
at times something truly eagle-like. At moments it seemed to him that
he was a ringing bell, sounding and sounding, heralding the delight of
life, the delight of love, the delight of happiness,--a great jubilee
of loving.
He wrote much, and more easily than ever before; there was besides in
his verses that which recalled the fresh odor of newly ploughed fields,
the vigor of young leaves, the sound of wings of birds flying on to
fallow land to the immense breadth of plains and meadows. He felt his
own power, and ceased to be timid about poetry even before strangers,
for he understood that there was something about him, something within
him, and that he had something to lay at the feet of a loved one.
Pan Stanislav, who, in spite of his mercantile life, had an
irrestrainable passion for horses, and never neglected the races, saw
Pan Ignas every day with the Osnovskis and Panna Castelli, and gazing
at the latter as at a rainbow; when he teased him in the counting-house
for being in love, the young poet answered,--
"It is not I, but my eyes. The Osnovskis will go soon, those ladies
too; and all will disappear like a dream."
But he did not speak truth, for he did not believe that all could
disappear like a dream. On the contrary, he felt that for him a new
life had begun, which with the departure of Panna Lineta might be
broken.
"And where are Pani Bronich and Panna Castelli going?" continued Pan
Stanislav.
"For the rest of June and during July they will remain with the
Osnovskis, and then go, as they say, to Scheveningen; but this is not
certain yet."
"Osnovski's Prytulov is fifteen miles from Warsaw," said Pan Stanislav.
For some days Pan Ignas had been asking himself, with heart beating,
whether they would invite him or not; but when they invited him, and
besides very cordially, he did not promise to go, and with all his
expressions of gratitude held back, excusing himself with the plea of
occupation and lack of time. Lineta, who was sitting apart, heard him,
and raised her golden brows. When he was going, she approached him and
asked,--
"Why will you not come to Prytulov?"
He, seeing that no one could hear them, said, looking into her eyes,--
"I am afraid."
She began to laugh, and inquired, repeating Kopovski's words,--
"Is it necessary to take anything for that?"
"It is," answered he, with a voice somewhat trembling; "I need to take
the word, come, from you!"
She hesitated a moment; perhaps she did not dare to tell him directly
in that form which he required, but she blushed suddenly and
whispered;--
"Come."
Then she fled, as if ashamed of those colors on her face, which, in
spite of the darkness, were increasingly evident.
On the way home it seemed to Pan Ignas that a shower of stars was
raining down on him.
The departure of the Osnovskis was to take place in ten days only.
Up to that time, the painting of portraits was to continue its usual
course, and to go on in the same fashion till the last day, for Lineta
did not wish to lose time. Pani Aneta persuaded her to paint Pan Ignas
exclusively, since Kopovski would need only as many sittings as could
be arranged in Prytulov just before their departure for Scheveningen.
For Pan Ignas those sittings had become the first need of his life, as
it were; and if by chance there was any interruption, he looked on that
day as lost. Pani Bronich was present at the sittings most frequently.
But he divined in her a friendly soul; and at last the manner in which
she spoke of Lineta began to please him. They both just composed hymns
in honor of Lineta, whom in confidential conversation Pani Bronich
called "Nitechka."[10] This name pleased Pan Ignas the more clearly he
felt how that "Nitechka" (thread) was winding around his heart.
Frequently, however, it seemed to him that Pani Bronich was narrating
improbable things. It was easy to believe that Lineta was and could be
Svirski's most capable pupil; that Svirski might have called her "La
Perla;" that he might have fallen in love with her, as Pani Bronich
gave one to understand. But that Svirski, known in all Europe, and
rewarded with gold medals at all the exhibitions, could declare with
tears, while looking at some sketch of hers, that saving technique, he
ought rather to take lessons of her, of this even Pan Ignas permitted
himself to doubt. And somewhere, in some corner of his soul, in which
there was hidden yet a small dose of sobriety, he wondered that Panna
"Nitechka" did not contradict directly, but limited herself to her
words usual on such occasions: "Aunt! thou knowest that I do not wish
you to repeat such things."
But at last he lost even those final gleams of sobriety, and began to
have feelings of tenderness even over the late Bronich, and almost fell
in love with Pani Bronich, for this alone,--that he could talk with her
from morning till night of Lineta.
In consequence of this repeated insistence of Pani Bronich, he visited
also, at this time, old Pan Zavilovski, that Croesus, at whose house
he had never been before. The old noble, with milk-white mustaches, a
ruddy complexion, and gray hair closely trimmed, received him with his
foot in an armchair, and with that peculiar great-lord familiarity of a
man accustomed to this,--that people count more with him than he with
them.
"I beg pardon for not standing," said he, "but the gout is no joke. Ha,
what is to be done! An inheritance! It seems that this will be attached
to the name for the ages of ages. But hast thou not a twist in thy
thumb sometimes?"
"No," answered Pan Ignas, who was a little astonished, as well at the
manner of reception as that the old noble said _thou_ to him from the
first moment.
"Wait; old age will come."
Then, calling his daughter, he presented Pan Ignas to her, and began to
speak of the family, explaining to the young man how they were related.
At last he said,--
"Well, I have not written verses, for I am too dull; but I must tell
thee that thou hast written them for me, and that I was not ashamed,
though I read my name under the verses."
But the visit was not to end successfully. Panna Zavilovski, a person
of thirty years, good-looking, but, as it were, untimely faded and
gloomy, wishing to take some part in the conversation, began to inquire
of her "cousin" whom he knew, and where he visited. To every name
mentioned, the old noble appended, in one or two words, his opinion.
At mention of Pan Stanislav, he said, "Good blood!" at Bigiel's, he
inquired, "How?" and when the name was repeated, he said, "_Connais
pas_;" Pani Aneta he outlined with the phrase, "Crested lark!" at
mention of Pani Bronich he muttered, "Babbler;" at last, when the young
man named, with a certain confusion, Panna Castelli, the noble, whose
leg twitched evidently at that moment, twisted his face terribly, and
exclaimed, "Ei! a Venetian _half-devil_!"
At this, it grew dark in the eyes of Pan Ignas, who, notwithstanding
his shyness, was impulsive; his lower jaw came forward more than ever,
and, rising, he measured with a glance the old man from his aching foot
to his crown, and said,--
"You have a way of giving sharp judgments, which does not suit me;
therefore it is pleasant to take farewell."
And, bowing, he took his hat and departed.
Old Pan Zavilovski, who permitted himself everything, and to whom
everything was forgiven, looked at his daughter some time with
amazement, and only after long silence exclaimed,--
"What! has he gone mad?"
The young man did not tell Pani Bronich what had happened. He said
merely that he had made a visit, and that father and daughter alike
did not please him. She learned everything, however, from the old
man himself, who, for that matter, did not call Lineta anything but
"Venetian half-devil," even to her eyes.
"But to make the matter perfect, you have sent me a full devil," said
he; "it is well that he did not break my head."
Still in his voice one might note a species of satisfaction that it was
a _Zavilovski_ who had shown himself so resolute; but Pani Bronich did
not note it. She took the affair somewhat to heart, and, to the great
astonishment of the "full-devil," said to him,--
"He is wild about Lineta, and with him this is a sort of term of
tenderness; besides, one should forgive a man much who has such
a position, and in this age. It must be that you haven't read
Krashevski's novel, 'Venetian Half-Devil.' This is a title in which
there is a certain poetry ever since that author used it. When the old
man grows good-natured, write him a couple of words, will you not? Such
relations should be kept up."
"Pani," answered Pan Ignas, "I would not write to him for anything in
the world."
"Even if some one besides me should ask?"
"That is--again, I am not a stone."
Lineta laughed when she heard these words. In secret she was pleased
that Pan Ignas, at one word touching her which to him seemed offensive,
sprang up as if he had heard a blasphemy. So that during the sitting,
when for a while they were alone, she said,--
"It is wonderful how little I believe in the sincerity of people. So
difficult is it for me to believe that any one, except aunt, should
wish me well really."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I cannot explain it to myself."
"But, for example, the Osnovskis? Pani Aneta?"
"Pani Aneta?" repeated Lineta.
And she began to paint diligently, as if she had forgotten the question.
"But I?" asked Pan Ignas, in a lower voice.
"You--yes. You, I am sure, would not let any one speak ill of me. I
feel that you are sincerely well-wishing, though I know not why, for in
general I am of so little worth."
"You of little worth!" cried Pan Ignas, springing up. "Remember that,
in truth, I will let no one speak ill of you, not even you yourself."
Lineta laughed and said,--
"Very well; but sit down, for I cannot paint."
He sat down; but he looked at her with a gaze so full of love and
enchantment that it began to confuse her.
"What a disobedient model!" said she; "turn your head to the right a
little, and do not look at me."
"I cannot! I cannot!" answered Pan Ignas.
"And I, in truth, cannot paint, for the head was begun in another
position. Wait!"
Then she approached him, and, taking his temples with her fingers,
turned his head toward the right slightly. His heart began to beat like
a hammer; everything went around in his eyes; and, holding the hand of
Lineta, he pressed her warm palm to his lips, and made no answer,--he
only pressed it more firmly.
"Talk with aunt," said she, hurriedly. "We are going to-morrow."
They could not say more, for that moment Osnovski, Kopovski, and Pani
Aneta, who had been sitting in the drawing-room adjoining, came into
the studio.
Pani Aneta, seeing Lineta's blushing cheeks, looked quickly at Pan
Ignas, and asked,--
"How is it going with you to-day?"
"Where is aunt?" inquired Lineta.
"She went out to make visits."
"Long since?"
"A few minutes ago. How has it gone with you?"
"Well; but enough for to-day."
Lineta put down her brush, and after a moment went to wash her hands.
Pan Ignas remained there, answering, with more or less presence
of mind, questions put to him; but he wanted to go. He feared the
conversation with Pani Bronich, and, with the habit of cowards, he
wished to defer it till the morrow; he wanted, besides, to remain a
while with his own thoughts, to arrange them, to estimate better the
significance of what had happened. For at that moment he had in his
head merely a certain chaos of indefinite thoughts; he understood that
something unparalleled had happened,--something from which a new epoch
in life would begin. At the very thought of this, a quiver of happiness
passed through him, but also a quiver of fear, for he felt that now it
was too late to withdraw; through love, through confession, through
declaration to the lady and to her family, he must advance to the
altar. He desired this with his whole soul; but he was so accustomed
to consider everything that was happiness as a poetic imagining, as
something belonging exclusively to the world of thought, art, and
dreams, that he almost lacked daring to believe that Lineta could
become his wife really. Meanwhile he had barely endurance to sit out
the time; and when Lineta returned, he rose to take leave.
She gave him her hand, cooled by fresh water, and said,--
"Will you not wait for aunt?"
"I must go; and to-morrow I will take farewell of you and Pani Bronich."
"Then till our next meeting!"
This farewell seemed to Pan Ignas, after what had happened, so
inappropriate and cold that despair seized him; but he had not the
daring to part before people otherwise, all the more that Pani Aneta
was looking at him with uncommon attention.
"Wait! I have something to do in the city; we'll go together," said
Osnovski, as he was going out.
And they went together; but barely were they outside the gate of the
villa, when Pan Osnovski stopped, and put his hand on the poet's arm.
"Pan Ignas, have you not quarrelled a little with Lineta?"
Pan Ignas looked at him with great eyes.
"I? with Panna Lineta?"
"Yes, for you parted somehow coldly. I thought you were as far, at
least, as hand-kissing."
Pan Ignas's eyes grew still larger; Osnovski laughed, and said,--
"Well, I'll tell you the truth. My wife, as a woman who is curious,
looked at you, and said that something had happened. My Pan Ignas, you
have in me a great friend, who, besides, knows what it is to love. I
can say to you only one thing,--God grant you to be as happy as I am!"
When he had said this, he began to shake his guest's hand; and Pan
Ignas, though confused to the highest degree, was barely able to
refrain from falling on his neck.
"Have you really some work to-day? Why did you go?"
"I will tell you sincerely. I wanted to collect my thoughts, and,
besides, fear of Pani Bronich seized me."
"Then you do not know aunt? Her head, too, is warm with the question.
Come with me a bit of the road, and then go back without ceremony.
On the way you will collect your thoughts; by that time Pani Bronich
will be at home, and you will tell her your little story, at which she
will weep. Nothing else threatens you. Remember, too, that if you are
fortunate you are to thank mainly my Aneta, for, as God lives, she
has filled Castelka's head, as your own sister might. She has such an
impetuous head, and at the same time such an honest heart. Equally good
women there may be, but a better there is not on earth. It seemed to us
a little that that fool Kopovski was inclined to Castelka, and Aneta
was tremendously angry. They like Kopovski; but to let her marry such a
man--that would be too much."
Thus talking, he took Pan Ignas by the hand, and after a moment,
continued, "We are to be relatives soon; let us drop ceremony and
say _thou_ to each other. I must tell thee further: I have no doubt
Castelka loves thee with her whole heart, for she is a true woman
also. Besides, they have turned her head with thee greatly; but she
is so young yet that I tell thee to throw fuel on the fire--throw it!
Dost understand? What is begun should become rooted; this can happen
easily, for hers is really an uncommon nature. Do not think that I
wish to forewarn or to frighten thee. No; it is a question only of
making things permanent. That she loves thee is not subject to doubt.
If thy eyes had but seen her when she was carrying thy book around,
or what happened when she and thou were returning from the theatre. A
stupid thought came to my head then. I spoke of having heard that old
Zavilovski wished to make thy acquaintance because he had planned to
marry thee to his daughter, so that his property might not leave the
name; and imagine to thyself, that poor girl, when she heard this,
became as pale as paper, so that I was frightened, and took back my
words in all haste. What is thy answer to this?"
Pan Ignas wanted to laugh and to weep; but he merely pressed to his
side, and pressed with all his force, Osnovski's hand, which he held
under his arm, and said, after a while,--
"I am not worthy of her, no."
"Well, and after that 'no' perhaps thou wilt say, 'No, I do not love
her properly.'"
"That may be true," answered Pan Ignas, raising his eyes.
"Well, go back now, and tell thy little story to Aunt Bronich. Do not
fear being too pathetic; she likes that. Till we meet again, Ignas! I
shall be back myself in an hour or so, and we shall have a betrothal
evening."
They pressed each other's hands, and Osnovski said, with a feeling
which was quite brotherly,--
"I repeat once more: God grant thee to find in Castelka such a wife as
my Anetka!"
On the way back Pan Ignas thought that Osnovski was an angel, Pani
Osnovski another, Pani Bronich a third, and Lineta, soaring above them
all on the wings of an archangel, something divine and sacred. He
understood at that moment that a heart might love to pain. In his soul
he was kneeling at her knees, bowing to the earth at her feet; he loved
her, deified her, and to all these feelings, which were playing in him
one great hymn, as it were, to greet the dawn, was joined a feeling of
such tenderness, as if that magnified woman was also a little child,
alone, and wonderfully loved, but a little thing, needing care. He
recalled Osnovski's story of how she had grown pale when they told
her that there was a plan to marry him to another; and in his soul he
repeated, "Ah, but thou art mine, thou art mine!" He grew tender beyond
measure, and gratitude so filled his heart that it seemed to him that
he could not repay her in a lifetime for that one moment of paleness.
He felt happier than ever before; and at moments the immensity of this
happiness almost frightened him. Hitherto he had been a theoretical
pessimist, but now reality gave the lie to those passing theories with
such power that it was hard for him to believe that he could have
deceived himself to such a degree.
Meanwhile he was returning to the villa, inhaling along the way the
odor of blooming jasmines, and having some species of dim feeling that
that intoxicating odor was nothing external, but simply a part and
component of his happiness. "What people! what a house! what a family!"
said he to himself; "only among them could my White One be reared!"
Then he looked on the sun, setting in calmness; he looked at the golden
curtains of evening, bordered with purple; and that calmness began
to possess him. In those immense lights he felt boundless love and
kindness, which look on the world, cherish, and bless it. He did not
pray in words, it is true; but everything was singing one thanksgiving
prayer in his soul.
At the gate of the villa he recovered as if from a dream; he saw an old
serving-man of the Osnovskis, who was looking at the passing carriages.
"Good-evening, Stanislav," said he; "but has not Pani Bronich returned?"
"I am just looking, but I do not see her."
"Are the ladies in the drawing-room yet?"
"They are; and Pan Kopovski, too."
"But who will open for me?"
"The door is open. I've come out only this minute."
Pan Ignas went up; but, finding no one in the common drawing-room, he
went to the studio. There, too, he found no one; but in the adjoining
smaller chamber certain low voices reached him through the portière
dividing that room from the studio. Thinking to find there both ladies
and Kopovski, he drew aside the portière slightly, and, looking in, was
stupefied.
Lineta was not in the room; but Kopovski was kneeling before Pani
Osnovski, who, holding her hands thrust into his abundant hair, was
bending his head back, inclining her face at the same time, as if to
place a kiss on his forehead.
"Anetka, if thou love me--" said Kopovski, with a voice stifled from
passion.
"I love--but no! I don't want that," answered Pani Osnovski, pushing
him away somewhat.
Pan Ignas dropped the portière with an involuntary movement; for a
moment he stood before it as if his feet had grown leaden. Finally,
without giving himself a clear account of what he was doing, he passed
through the studio, where the sound of his steps was deadened on the
thick carpet, as it had been when he entered; he passed the main
drawing-room, the entrance, the front steps, and came to himself at the
gate of the villa.
"Is the serene lord going out?" inquired the old serving-man.
"Yes," answered Pan Ignas.
He walked away as quickly as if escaping from something. After a time,
however, he stopped, and said aloud to himself,--
"Why have I not gone mad?"
And suddenly madness seemed to him possible, for he felt that he was
losing the thread of his thoughts; that he could not give himself an
account of anything; that he understood nothing, believed nothing.
Something began to tear in him, fall away. How was it? That house
which a moment before he thought to be some kind of blessed retreat of
exceptional souls, conceals the usual falsehood, the usual wickedness,
the usual vileness of life,--a wretched and shameful comedy. And his
Lineta, his White One, is breathing such an atmosphere, living in
such an environment, existing with such beings! Here Osnovski's words
occurred to him: "God grant thee to find in Castelka such a wife as I
have in my Anetka!" "I thank thee," thought Pan Ignas, and he began
to laugh, in spite of himself. Neither evil nor vileness were to him
a novelty: he had seen them, and he knew that they existed; but for
the first time life showed them to him with such a merciless irony, as
that through which Pan Osnovski,--a man who had shown him the heart
of a brother; a man honest, just, kind as few people in the world
are--turned out to be also a fool, a kind of exalted idiot, exalted
through his faith and his feeling; an idiot through a woman. And for
the first time, too, he saw clearly what a bad and contemptible woman
may make of a man, without any fault of his. On a sudden new, dreadful
horizons of life opened before him,--whole regions, the existence of
which he had not suspected; he had understood before that an evil
woman, like a vampire, may suck the life out of a man, and kill him,
and that seemed to him demonic, but he had not imagined that she could
make a fool of him also. He could not master that thought. But still,
Osnovski was ridiculous when he wished him to be as happy with his
future wife as he with Anetka; there was no help for this case either.
One should not so love as to grow blind to that degree.
Here his thoughts passed to Lineta. At the first moment he had a
feeling that from that vileness in the house of the Osnovskis, and
from that doubt which was born in his heart, a certain shadow fell on
her also. After a while he began, however, to cast out that feeling as
though it were profanation, treason against innocence, treason against
a being as pure as she was beloved, and defiling in thought her and
her angelic plumage. Indignation at himself seized him. "Does such a
dove even think evil?" asked he, in his soul. And his love rose still
more at the thought that "such a super-pure child" must come in contact
with such depravity. He would take her with the utmost haste possible
from Pani Osnovski's, guard her from that woman's influence, seize
her in his arms, and bear her from that house, in which her innocent
eyes might be opened on evil and depravity. A certain demon whispered
at moments to his ear, it is true, that Osnovski, too, believes as
he does, and that he would give his own blood in pledge for his
wife's honesty; he too would count every doubt a profanation of her
sacredness. But Pan Ignas drove away those whisperings with dread. "It
is enough to look into her eyes," said he; and at the mere thought of
those eyes, he was ready to beat his own breast, as if lie had sinned
most grievously. He was also angry at himself because he had come out,
because he had not waited for Pani Bronich, and had not strengthened
himself with the sight of Lineta. He remembered now how he had pressed
her hand to his lips; how she, changing from emotion, said to him,
"Speak with aunt." How much angelic simplicity and purity there was in
those words! what honesty of a soul, which, loving, wishes to be free
to love before the whole world! Pan Ignas, when he thought of this, was
seized by a desire to return; but he felt that he was too much excited,
and that he could not explain his former presence if the servant should
mention it.
Then again the picture rose before his eyes of Kopovski kneeling to
Pani Osnovski; and he fell to inquiring of himself what he was to do in
view of this, and how he was to act. Warn Osnovski? he rejected this
thought at once with indignation. Shut himself in with Pani Osnovski,
and give her a sermon, eye to eye? She would show him the door. After
a time it came to his head to threaten Kopovski, and force from him a
promise to cease visiting the Osnovskis. But soon he saw that that,
too, was useless. Kopovski, if he had even a small share of courage,
would give him the lie, challenge him; in such a case he would have
to be silent, and people would think that the scandal rose because of
Panna Castelli. Pan Ignas was sorry for Osnovski; he had conceived for
the man a true friendship, and, on the other hand, he was too young to
be reconciled at once with the thought that evil and human crookedness
were to continue unpunished. Ah! but if at that juncture he could have
counselled with some one,--for instance, with Pan Stanislav or Marynia.
But that could not be. And after long thought he resolved to bury all
in himself, and be silent.
At the same time, from the passionate prayer of Kopovski and the answer
of Pani Aneta, he inferred that the evil might not have passed yet into
complete fall. He did not know women; but he had read no little about
them. He knew that there exists some for whom the form of evil has more
charm than the substance; that there are women devoid of moral sense,
but also of passion, who have just as much desire for a prohibited
adventure as they have repugnance to complete fall,--in a word, those
who are incapable of loving anybody, who deceive their lovers as well
as their husbands. He recalled the words of a certain Frenchman: "If
Eve had been Polish, she would have plucked the apple, but not eaten
it." A similar type seemed to him Pani Aneta; vice might be in her as
superficial as virtue, and in such case the forbidden relation might
annoy her very soon, especially with a man like Kopovski.
Here, however, Pan Ignas lost the basis of reasoning and the key to the
soul of Pani Aneta. He would have understood relations with any other
man more readily than with Kopovski,--that archangel with the brains of
an idiot. "A poodle understands more of what is said to him," thought
Pan Ignas; "and a woman with such aspirations to reason, to science,
to art, to the understanding of every thought and feeling, could lower
herself for such a head!" He could not explain this to himself, even
with what he had read about women.
And still reality said more definitely than all books that it was so.
Suddenly Pan Ignas remembered what Osnovski had said to him about their
fear lest that fool might have plans against Castelka, that the mention
of this had angered Pani Aneta immensely, and that she filled Lineta's
head with feeling for another. So then, for Pani Aneta the question
consisted in this, that Kopovski should not pay court to Lineta. She
wanted to save him for herself. Here Pan Ignas shivered all at once,
for the thought struck him, that if that were true, Kopovski must have
had some chance of success; and again a shadow pursued the bright
form of Lineta. If that were true, she would fall in his eyes to the
level of Pani Aneta. After a time he felt bitterness in his mouth and
fire in his brain. Anger sprang upon him, like a tempest; he could
not forgive her this, and the very suspicion would have poisoned him.
Halting again on the street, he felt that he must throttle that thought
in himself, or go mad from it.
In fact, he put it down so effectively that he recognized himself
as the lowest fool for this alone,--that the thought could come to
him. That Lineta was incapable of loving Kopovski was shown best by
this,--that she had fallen in love with him, Pan Ignas; and the fears
and suspicions of Pani Aneta flowed only from the self-love of a
vain woman, who was afraid that another might be recognized as more
attractive and beautiful than she was. Pan Ignas had the feeling of
having pushed from his breast a stone, which had oppressed him. He
began then in spirit to implore on his knees pardon of the unspotted
one; and thenceforth his thoughts touching her were full of love,
homage, and contrition.
Now he made the remark to himself that evil, though committed by
another, bears evil; how many foul thoughts had passed through his mind
only because he had seen a fool at the feet of a giddy head! He noted
that consideration down in his memory.
When near his lodgings he met Pan Stanislav with Pani Mashko on his
arm; and that day had so poisoned him that a sudden suspicion flashed
through his mind. But Pan Stanislav recognized him in the light of the
moon and a lamp, and had no desire to hide evidently, for he stopped
him.
"Good-evening," said he. "Why home so early to-day?"
"I was at Pani Bronich's, and I am just strolling about, for the
evening is beautiful."
"Then step in to us. As soon as I conduct this lady home, I will
return. My wife has not seen you this long time."
"I will go," said Pan Ignas.
And a desire to see Pani Marynia had seized him really. So many
thoughts and feelings had rushed through him that he was weary; and he
knew that the calm and kind face of Marynia would act on him soothingly.
Soon he rang the bell at Pan Stanislav's. When he had entered, he
explained, after the greeting, that he came at the request of her
husband, to which she answered,--
"Of course! I am very glad. My husband at this moment is escorting
home Pani Mashko, who visited me, but he will return to tea. The
Bigiels will be here surely, and perhaps my father will come, if he has
not gone to the theatre."
Then she indicated a place at the table to him, and, straightening
the lamp shade, began on the work with which she was occupied
previously,--making little rosettes of narrow red and blue ribbons, of
which there was a pile lying before her.
"What are you making?" asked Pan Ignas.
"Rosettes. They are sewed to various costumes."
After a while she added,--
"But this is far more interesting,--what are you doing? Do you know
that all Warsaw is marrying you to Lineta Castelli? They have seen you
both in the theatre, at the races; they see you at the promenades;
and it is impossible to persuade them that the affair is not decided
already."
"Since I have spoken with you so openly, I will tell you now that it is
almost decided."
Marynia raised to him eyes enlivened with a smile and with curiosity.
"Is that true? Ah, that is a perfect piece of news! May God give you
such happiness as we wish you!"
Then she stretched her hand to him, and afterward inquired with roused
curiosity,--
"Have you spoken with Lineta?"
Pan Ignas told her how it was, and acknowledged his conversation with
Lineta and with Osnovski; then, letting himself be borne away in the
narrative, he confessed everything that had happened to him--how, from
the beginning, he had observed, criticised, and struggled with himself;
how he had not dared to hope; how he had tried to drive that feeling
from his head, or rather, from his heart, and how he could not resist
it. He assured her that he had promised himself a number of times to
cut short the acquaintance and the visits, but strength failed him each
time; each time he saw with amazement that the whole world, the whole
object of his life, was there; that without her, without Lineta, he
would not know what to do with his life--and he went back to her.
Pan Ignas had not observed himself less truthfully, but he criticised
and struggled less than he said. He spoke sincerely, however. He added
at the end that he knew with certainty that he loved, not his own
feelings involved in Lineta, but Lineta herself, for herself, and that
she was the dearest person on earth to him.
"Think," said he, "others have families, mothers, sisters, brothers; I,
except my unfortunate father, have no one, and therefore my love for
the whole world is centred in her."
"True," said Marynia; "that had to come."
"This seems a dream to me," continued he; "it cannot find place in my
head that she will be my wife really. At times it seems to me that this
cannot happen; that something will intervene; that all will be lost."
In fact, this feeling was strengthened in him by exaltation, to which
he was more inclined than other men, and at last he began to tremble
nervously; then he covered his eyes with his hands, and said,--
"You see I must shield my eyes to imagine this properly. Such
happiness! such fabulous happiness! What does a man seek in life,
and in marriage? Just that, and in its own course that exceeds his
strength. I do not know whether I am so weak or what? but I say
sincerely that at times breath fails me."
Marynia placed her rosette on the table, and, putting her hands on it,
looked at him for a while, then said,--
"You are a poet, and are carried away too much; you should look more
calmly. Listen to what I will tell you. I have a little book from my
mother, in which, while she was sick and without hope of recovery,
she wrote for me what she thought was good. About marriage she wrote
down something which later I have not heard from any one, and have not
read in any book,--that is, that one should not marry to be happy, but
to accomplish those duties which God imposes at marriage; and that
happiness is only an addition, a gift of God. You see how simple this
is; and still it is true that not only have I not heard it since, but I
have not seen any woman or any man about to marry who thought more of
duty than of happiness. Remember this, and repeat it to Lineta,--will
you?"
Pan Ignas looked at her with astonishment.
"Do you know this is so simple that really it will never come to any
one's mind?"
She laughed a little sadly, and, taking her rosette, began again to
sew. After a while she repeated,--
"Tell that to Lineta."
And she sewed on, drawing out with quick movement her somewhat thin
hand, together with the needle.
"You will understand that if one has such a principle in the heart, one
has perpetual peace, more joyous, or sadder, as God grants, but still
deep. But without that there is only a kind of feverish happiness,
and deceptions always at hand, even if only for this reason,--that
happiness may be different from what we imagine it." And she sewed on.
He looked at her inclined head, at her moving hand, at her work; he
heard her voice; and it seemed to him that that peace of which she had
spoken was floating above her, was filling the whole atmosphere, was
suspended above the table, was burning mildly in the lamp, and finally,
was entering him.
He was so occupied with himself, with his love, that it did not even
occur to him that her heart could be sad. Meanwhile he was penetrated,
as it were, by a double astonishment: first, that these truths which
she had told him were such an _a_, _b_, _c_, that they ought to lie on
the very surface of every thought; and second, that in spite of this,
his own thought had not worked them out of itself, or, at least, had
not looked at them. "What is that," thought he, "our wisdom, bookish in
comparison with that simple wisdom of an honest woman's heart?" Then,
recalling Pani Aneta, and looking at Marynia, he began this monologue
in his soul, "That woman and this woman!" And suddenly there came to
him immense solace; all his disturbed thoughts settled down to their
level. He felt that he was resting while looking at that noble woman.
"In Lineta," said he to himself, "there is the same calmness, the same
simplicity, and the same honesty."
Now Pan Stanislav came, a little later the Bigiels, after which the
violoncello was brought. At tea Pan Stanislav spoke of Mashko. Mashko
conducted the suit against the will with all energy, and it advanced,
though there were difficulties at every step. The advocate on the side
of the benevolent institutions--that young Sledz (herring), whom Mashko
promised to sprinkle with pepper, cover with oil, and swallow--turned
out not to be so easily eaten as had seemed. Pan Stanislav heard that
he was a man cool, resolute, and at the same time a skilled lawyer.
"What is amusing, withal," said he, "is, that Mashko, as Mashko,
considers himself a kind of patrician, who is fighting with a
plebeian, and says this will be a test of whose blood is thicker. It is
a pity that Bukatski is not living; this would give him amusement."
"But is Mashko in St. Petersburg all this time?" asked Bigiel.
"He returns to-day; for that reason she could not stay for the
evening," answered Pan Stanislav; after a while he added, "I had in my
time a prejudice against her; but I have convinced myself that she is
not a bad woman, and, besides, is poor."
"How poor? Mashko hasn't lost the case yet," said Pani Bigiel.
"But he is always from home. Pani Mashko's mother is in an optical
hospital in Vienna, and will lose her eyes, perhaps. Pani Mashko is
alone whole days, like a hermitess. I say that I had a prejudice
against her, but now I am sorry for her."
"It is true," said Marynia, "that since marriage she has become far
more sympathetic."
"Yes," answered Pan Stanislav; "and besides she has lost no charm. Red
eyes injured her formerly; but now the redness has vanished, and she is
as maiden-like as ever."
"But it is unknown whether Mashko is equally pleased with that,"
remarked Bigiel.
Marynia was anxious to tell those present the news about Pan Ignas;
but since he was not betrothed yet officially, she did not know that
it might be mentioned. When, however, after tea, Pani Bigiel began
to inquire of him how the matter stood, he himself said that it was
as good as finished, and Marynia put in her word announcing that the
matter stood in this form,--that they might congratulate Pan Ignas.
All began then to press his hand with that true friendship which they
had for him, and genuine gladness possessed all. Bigiel, from delight,
kissed Pani Bigiel; Pan Stanislav commanded to bring glasses and a
bottle of champagne, to drink the health of the "most splendid couple"
in Warsaw; Pani Bigiel began to joke with Pan Ignas, predicting what
the housekeeping of a poet and an artist would be. He laughed; but was
really moved by this, that his dreams were beginning to be real.
A little later, Pan Stanislav punched him, and said,--
"The happiness of God, but I will give you one advice: what you have
in poetry, put into _business_, into work; be a realist in life, and
remember that marriage is no romance."
But he did not finish, for Marynia put her hand suddenly over his
mouth, and said, laughing, "Silence, thou wise head!"
And then to Pan Ignas, "Don't listen to this grave pate: make no
theories beforehand for yourself; only love."
"True, Pani, true," answered Pan Ignas.
"In that case, buy a harp for yourself," added Pan Stanislav, jeeringly.
At mention of the harp, Bigiel seized his violoncello, saying that they
ought to end such an evening with music. Marynia sat at the piano, and
they began one of Handel's serenades. Pan Ignas had the impression that
the soul was going out of him. He took those mild tones into himself,
and was flying amid the night, lulling Lineta to sleep with them. Late
in the evening, he came out, as if strengthened with the sight of those
worthy people.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] "Nitechka" (little thread) is the diminutive of "Nitka," itself a
diminutive of "Nits," which means thread.