Since the day when Pani Aneta and Kopovski made the trip to
Lesnichovka, something had changed in the social relations of the
dwellers in Prytulov. Pan Ignas looked, it is true, as formerly, into
the eyes of his affianced, and was enchanted with her beyond measure;
but in her intercourse with him and with others there was a certain
light shade of ill-humor. Kopovski felt as if bound; he looked at
Lineta by stealth only. He approached her hurriedly, and only in the
absence of Pani Aneta; but he sat oftener near Panna Ratkovski, to whom
he spoke, as it were, with his mind in another place. Pani Aneta was,
moreover, more determined than usual; and, to the great satisfaction
of "Yozio," she extended now such watchful care over every affair in
Prytulov, that she took Kopovski aside twice for personal explanations.
Lineta's glance did not follow Kopovski with that former half-gladsome,
half-ironical freedom; but the cloudy eyes of Panna Ratkovski turned to
Pan Ignas with a certain sympathy,--in one, word, something had changed
both in looks and relations.
But those were changes observable only to a very quick eye, and one
accustomed to look at life of that kind, in which, for lack of greater
objects and severe daily labor, the least shade of feelings and the
most subtle movement of thoughts, and even dispositions, take on not
only the form, of far-reaching events, but frequently conceal the
actual germs of such events in themselves. Externally life remained
just the same it had been; that is, a kind of daily festival, a May
day, country idleness, interwoven with love, æsthetic impressions, more
or less witty conversations, and, finally, amusements. The arrangement
of a whole series of these amusements, to fill out the day, was the
sole occupation which weighed on their thoughts; and even this, for the
greater part, Pan Osnovski took on himself as master of the house.
But on a certain day the uniform calm of that life was broken by a
thunderbolt, under the form of two black-bordered envelopes addressed
to Osnovski and Pan Ignas. When they were brought in, the whole
society was at after-dinner coffee; and the eyes of the ladies were
turned with curiosity and alarm at the readers, who, taking cards from
the unsealed envelopes, cried almost simultaneously,--
"Pan Zavilovski is dead!"
The news made a deep impression. Pani Bronich, as a person of the old
school, and remembering those days when the coming of a courier in the
country obliged the most sensitive ladies to faint, even before it
was known what the courier had brought, fell into a kind of numbness,
joined to loss of speech; Panna Ratkovski, who had spent some time
at Pan Zavilovski's, and cherished great friendship for him and his
daughter, grew pale in real earnest; Panna Lineta, seizing Pani
Bronich's hand, tried to restore her to consciousness, whispering,
"_Voyons, chère, tu n'es pas raisonnable!_" Pani Aneta, as if wishing
to verify with her own eyes the substance of the announcement, took the
card from her husband's hands, and read,--
"The respected Pan Eustachius Zavilovski departed this life on the
25th day of July. His grief-stricken daughter invites relatives
and friends to the funeral, at the parish church in Yasmen, on the
28th day of the current month."
Then followed a moment of silence, which was broken by Pan Ignas.
"I knew him little," said he, "and was prepossessed against him once;
but now I grieve for him sincerely, for I know that at heart he was a
worthy man."
"And he loved thee sincerely," answered Osnovski. "I have proofs of
that."
Pani Bronich, who, during this time, had recovered, declared that
those proofs might appear now in their fulness, and that the heart of
the deceased would very likely prove itself still greater than they
imagined. "Pan Eustachius always loved Nitechka much, and such a man
cannot be malicious." At times he had reminded her--that is, Pani
Bronich--of Teodor, and therefore she had become so attached to him.
He was, it is true, as abrupt on occasions as Teodor was gentle at all
times; but both had that honesty of spirit which the Lord God is best
able to value.
Then she turned to "Nitechka," reminding her that the least emotion
would add to the sinking of her heart, and begging her to strive this
time not to yield to innate sensitiveness. Pan Ignas, too, with
the feeling that a common sorrow had struck him and Lineta for the
first time, began to kiss her hands. This state of mind was broken by
Kopovski, who said, as if in meditation on the transitory nature of
human affairs,--
"I am curious to know what Panna Helena will do with the pipes left by
her father."
In fact, the old noble's pipes were famous throughout the whole city.
Through dislike for cigarettes and cigars, he had in his day made a
great collection in his mansion for lovers of the pipe. Kopovski's
anxiety about the pipes was not quieted, however,--first, because
at that moment they brought Pan Ignas a letter from Pan Stanislav,
containing also intelligence of the old man's decease, and an
invitation to the funeral; secondly, because Osnovski began to advise
with his wife about the trip to Yasmen.
It ended in this,--that all were to go at once to the city, where the
ladies would set about buying various small articles of mourning, and
on the second day, the day of the funeral, they would be in Yasmen.
Thus did they do. Pan Ignas, immediately after their arrival, went
to his lodgings to carry home things, and prepare a black suit for
mourning; and then he went to the Polanyetskis, supposing that they,
too, perhaps, had come in from the Bigiels. The servant informed him
that his master had been there the day before, but had gone at once
to Yasmen, near which place he had hired, or even bought, a house two
weeks earlier.
Hearing this, he returned to Osnovski's villa to spend the evening with
his betrothed.
At the entrance, the tones of a waltz by Strauss, coming from the
depth of the house, astonished him. Meeting in the next salon Panna
Ratkovski, he inquired who was playing.
"Lineta is playing with Pan Kopovski," answered she.
"Then Pan Kopovski is here?"
"He came a quarter of an hour since."
"And Pani and Pan Osnovski?"
"They have not returned yet; Aneta is making purchases."
Pan Ignas, for the first time in his life, felt a certain
dissatisfaction with Lineta. He understood that the deceased was
nothing to her; still the moment for playing a four-handed waltz with
Kopovski seemed inappropriate. He had a feeling that that showed want
of taste. Pani Bronich, who did not lack society keenness, divined
evidently that impression on his face.
"Nitechka was moved greatly, and worn out," said she; "and nothing
calms her like music. I was much alarmed, for sinking of the heart had
begun with her; and when Pan Kopovski came, I myself proposed that they
play something."
They stopped playing; and Pan Ignas's unpleasant impression disappeared
by degrees. There was for him in that villa a multitude of recent and
precious remembrances. About dusk he took Lineta's arm, and they walked
through the rooms. They stopped in various places; he called to mind
something every moment.
"Dost remember," asked he, in the studio, "when painting, thou didst
take me by the temple to turn my head aside, and for the first time in
life I kissed thy hand; and thy words, 'Talk with aunt'?--I lost not
only consciousness, but breath. Thou, my chosen, my dearest!"
And she answered,--
"And how pale thou wert then!"
"It is difficult not to be pale when the heart is dying in one from
emotion; and I loved thee beyond memory."
Lineta raised her eyes, and said after a while,--
"How wonderful all this is!"
"What, Nitechka?"
"That it begins somehow, and begins as if it were a kind of trial, a
kind of play; then one goes farther into it, and all at once the trap
falls."
Pan Ignas pressed her arm to his bosom, and said,--
"Ah, yes! it has fallen! I have my bright maiden, and I won't let her
go."
Then, walking on, they came to the great drawing-room.
Pan Ignas pointed to the glass door, and said,--
"Our balcony, our acacia-tree."
It grew darker and darker. Objects in the room were sunk in shade; only
here and there, on golden picture frames, gleamed points of light, like
eyes of some kind gazing at the young couple.
"Dost thou love me?" asked Pan Ignas.
"Thou knowest."
"Say yes."
"Yes."
Then he pressed her arm more, and said with a voice changed through
rising emotion,--
"Thou hast no idea, simply, how much happiness is in thee. I give thee
my word; thou hast no idea. Thou knowest not how I love thee. I would
give my life for thee. I would give the world for one hair of thine.
Thou art my world, my life, my all. I should die without thee."
"Let us sit down," whispered Lineta; "I am so wearied."
They sat down, resting against each other, hidden in the dark. A moment
of silence followed.
"What is the matter? Thou art trembling all over," whispered Lineta.
But she too, whether stirred by remembrances, or borne on by his
feeling, or by nearness, began to breathe hurriedly, and, closing her
eyes, was the first to put her lips forward toward his.
Meanwhile Kopovski was bored evidently in the adjoining room with Panna
Ratkovski and Pani Bronich, for at that moment the tones of the waltz
which he had played before with Lineta were heard.
When Pan Ignas returned to his own lodgings, the place seemed the
picture of sadness and loneliness, a kind of objectless nomad dwelling,
after which there will not be one memory; and he thought that that
golden "Nitechka" had so wound herself around his heart that in truth
he would not live without her, and could not.
The funeral, on the third day, was not numerously attended. The
neighboring estates, as lying near the city belonged for the greater
part to rich people, who passed the summer season abroad; hence not
many of Pan Zavilovski's acquaintances had remained in the city. But
numerous throngs of villagers had assembled, who, crowding into the
church, looked at the coffin as if with wonder that a man of such
wealth, wading in property, in money and riches, was going into the
ground like the first chance peasant who lived in a hut somewhere.
Others looked with envy on the young lady to whom "so much wealth" was
to fall. And such is human nature that not only peasants, but refined
people, distant or near acquaintances of Pan Zavilovski, were unable
even during the burial itself to refrain from thinking what that
Panna Helena would do with these millions which were left her for the
drying of tears. There were some too, who, supposing young Zavilovski
as the last relative of that name, the heir of a considerable part
of the property, gave themselves in secret the question whether
that lucky poet, and millionnaire of the morrow, perhaps, would stop
writing verses. And they thought, as if with a certain unexplained
satisfaction, that he would probably.
But the chief attention was turned to Panna Helena. All wondered at
the resignation with which she bore the loss,--the more painful, since
after the death of her father she remained in the world all alone,
without relatives nearer than the young poet, and even without friends,
concerning whom she had long since ceased to busy herself. She walked
after the coffin with a face over which tears were flowing, but which
was calm, with that calmness usual to her, but somewhat lifeless and
stony. On her return from the church, she spoke of the death of her
father as if a number of months at least had passed since it happened.
The ladies of Prytulov could not understand that an immense faith was
speaking through her; and that in virtue of her faith, that death, in
comparison with another, which she had survived, but which had rent
her soul, seemed something that was sad, it is true, but at the same
time a blessing, pressing out tears of sorrow, but not of despair. In
fact, old Pan Zavilovski died very piously, though almost suddenly.
From the time of his arrival in Yasmen, he had the habit of confessing
twice a week; hence he did not lack religious consolation. He died
with the rosary in his hand, in his armchair, having fallen previously
into a light sleep, without any suffering; his usual pain having left
him a few days before, so that he had even begun to gain the hope of a
perfect return of health. Panna Helena, while speaking of this, in her
low uniform voice, turned at last to Pan Ignas and said,--
"He mentioned you very often. Perhaps an hour before death he said that
if you should come to Buchynek to Pan Polanyetski, to let him know,
for he wished to see you without fail. Father loved and esteemed you
greatly, greatly."
"Dear lady," said Pan Ignas, raising her hands to his lips, "I join you
in mourning for him sincerely."
There was something noble and truthful, as well in his tones as in his
words, therefore Panna Helena's eyes filled with tears; but the weeping
of Pani Bronich was so loud that, had it not been for a flask of salts
given her by Lineta, it would have passed into a nervous attack, very
likely.
But Panna Helena, as if not hearing those sobs, thanked Pan Stanislav
for the aid which she had received from him,--he had occupied himself
with those cares which the death of a near friend imposes, in addition
to their misfortune, on those who are bereaved. He took all that on
himself because of his active nature, and because at that juncture he
seized every chance to occupy himself with something to deaden his
thoughts, and escape from the torturing circle of his own meditations.
Marynia did not go to the grave, for her husband did not wish her
exposed to crowding and fatigue, but she kept company with Panna Helena
in the house, giving her consolation, as she could. Afterward she
wished to take her, with the Prytulov ladies, to Buchynek, and even
to keep her there a few days. Pan Stanislav supported this request;
but as Panna Helena had her old governess at the mansion, she refused,
assuring Marynia that in Yasmen it would not be disagreeable at all
to her, and that she did not wish to leave it for the first days
especially.
But the ladies from Prytulov, who, at the persuasion of Svirski,
had intended to visit the Polanyetskis, went willingly with their
acquaintances to Buchynek,--all the more since Pani Bronich desired
to learn from Pan Stanislav nearer details touching the last moments
of the deceased. Marynia, who had looked most curiously at Panna
Ratkovski, took her in her carriage, and that happened which happens
sometimes in society,--that the two youthful women felt at once an
irrestrainable attraction to each other. In Panna Ratkovski's pensive
eyes, in her expression, in her "retiring" face, as Svirski called
it, there was something of such character that Marynia divined, at
the first glance almost, a nature not bold, accustomed to retire into
itself, delicate and sensitive. On the other hand, Panna Ratkovski had
heard so much of Marynia from Pan Ignas, and heard because other ladies
in Prytulov were not willing to lend their ears to praises of their
neighbors, that, seeing in her eyes interest and sympathy, to which,
in her poverty and loneliness, she was not accustomed, she nestled up
with her whole heart to her. In this way they arrived at Buchynek as
good friends, and Svirski, who was with Pan Stanislav, Osnovski, and
Kopovski, arrived right after them; it did not need any great acuteness
to divine that the judgment of Marynia would be for Panna Steftsia.
But he wished to hear it. Marynia began to show the guests her new
residence, which was to be her property, for Pan Stanislav had decided
already to buy it. They looked specially at the garden, in which were
growing uncommonly old white poplars. Svirski, taking advantage of this
walk, gave his arm to Marynia; and on the way back to the house, when
the party had scattered somewhat along all the paths, he asked with
great precipitance,--
"Well, what is the first impression?"
"The best possible. Ah, what a good and sensitive child that must be!
Try to know her."
"I? What for? I will propose this day. You think I will not do that?
Upon my word, I will, to-day--and in Buchynek! I have no time for
examination and meditation. In those affairs there must be a little
daring. I will make a declaration this day, as true as I am here before
you."
Marynia began to laugh, thinking that he was jesting; but he answered,--
"I am laughing, too, for there is nothing sad in this; it is no harm
that this is a funeral day. I am not superstitious; or rather, I am,
for I believe that nothing from your hand can be evil."
"But it is not from my hand; I only made her acquaintance to-day."
"It is all one to me. I have been afraid of women all my life; but of
this one, somehow, I have no fear. She simply cannot be a thankless
heart."
"I think, too, that she cannot."
"And do you see? this is my last chance. If she accepts me, I will
carry her all my life, see?" (here he put his hand in the bosom of his
coat); "if not, then--"
"Then what?"
"I'll shut myself in, and for a whole week will paint from morning
till night. I have said that I would go to shoot ducks--but no! This
is more important than you think. I judge, however, that she ought
to accept me. I know that she does not like that ladies' butterfly,
that Kopovski; she is alone in the world, an orphan; she will do me a
kindness, for which I shall be grateful all my days, because, really, I
am a kind man--but I fear to grow embittered."
Marynia saw now, for the first time, that Svirski might speak
seriously; and she answered,--
"You are, in truth, a kind man; hence you will never be embittered."
"On the contrary," answered he, with great animation, "it might end in
that; I will be outspoken with you. Do you think that I am as happy
as I seem? God knows that I am not. I have gained a little money and
fame; that is true. But perhaps there has not been among men another
who has so stretched forth his hands to a womanly ideal as I have. What
is the result? I have met you, Pani Bigiel, maybe two or three others,
worthy, true, sensible, pure as tears. Permit me! I do not wish to say
pleasant things to you; but in what I say now I do not wish to announce
a criticism, but to discover my suffering. I have seen among our women
so much tinsel, so many common, frivolous natures, so much egotism,
so much shallowness, so many thankless hearts, so many dolls from a
picture, so many false aspirations, that from sight of them ten such
men as I am might be embittered." After a while he added: "This child
seems different; quiet, mild, and very honest. God grant that it come
to pass; God grant her to want me!"
At the same time Pani Bronich, taking Pan Stanislav aside openly, spoke
with uplifted eyes,--
"Oh, yes! he reminded me of my years of youth; and, as you see, in
spite of this--that for a long time relations between us were broken--I
preserved friendship for him to the end of his life. You must have
heard! but no! you could not have heard, for I have never mentioned
this to any one, that it depended on me alone--to be the mother of
Helena. Now there is no longer any need to keep the secret. Twice he
proposed to me, and twice I refused him. I respected and loved him
always; but you will understand that when one is young, something else
is sought for,--that is sought for which I found in my Teodor. Oh,
that is true! Once he proposed in Ischia, a second time in Warsaw. He
suffered much; but what could I do? Would you have acted otherwise if
in my place? Tell me sincerely."
Pan Stanislav, not having the least desire to say, either sincerely or
insincerely, how he would have acted in the position of Pani Bronich,
replied,--
"Did you wish to ask me about something?"
"Yes, oh, yes! I wanted to ask you about his last moments. Helena
said that he died suddenly; but you, who lived so near him, must have
visited him, therefore you will remember what he said. Maybe you know
what his last intentions and thoughts were? Personally I have not the
least interest in the matter. My God! would it not be difficult to act
more disinterestedly? You do not know Nitechka? But Pan Zavilovski
gave me his word that he would leave Pan Ignas his estates in Poznan.
If he did not keep his word, or if he did not try to keep it, may the
Lord God forgive him, as I forgive him! Wealth, of course, amounts to
nothing. Who has given a better example than Nitechka of disregard for
wealth? Were it the opposite, she would not have refused such matches
as the Marquis Jao Colimaçao, or Pan Kanafaropulos. You must have heard
also of Pan Ufinski,--that same who, with his famous silhouettes,
bought for himself a palace in Venice. His last work was to cut out the
Prince of Wales. This very year he proposed to use for Nitechka. Oh,
true! if any one has sought wealth, it is not we. But I should not wish
Nitechka to think that she had made a sacrifice, for still, between
us, she is making a sacrifice, and if considered in society fashion, a
great sacrifice."
Pan Stanislav was an energetic man; angered by the last words of Pani
Bronich, he answered,--
"I have not known either the Marquis Jao Colimaçao or Pan Kanafaropulos,
but in this country they are rather fantastic names. I will suppose that
Panna Castelli marries Pan Zavilovski out of love; in that case, every
sacrifice is excluded. I am an outspoken man, and I say what I think.
Whether Pan Ignas is a practical man is another question; but Pan Ignas
does not know, and he does not want to ask, what Panna Castelli brings
him. The ladies know perfectly what he brings, even from a society point
of view."
"Oh, but you have not heard that the Castellis are descended from
Marino Falieri."
"That is precisely what neither I nor any one else has heard. Let us
suppose that for me and you such views have no meaning; but since you
say, first, that, taking things from a society point of view, Panna
Castelli is making a great sacrifice, I do not hesitate to deny that,
and to say that, omitting Pan Ignas's talents and social position, the
match is equal."
From his tone and face it was evident that if Pani Bronich would not
stop at what he said, he was ready to speak more openly; but Pani
Bronich, having evidently more than one arrow in her quiver, seized Pan
Stanislav's hand, and, shaking it vigorously, exclaimed,--
"Oh, how honest you are, to take the part of Ignas so earnestly, and
how I love him, as my own son! Whom have I in the world if not those
two? And if I inquire whether you know of any arrangement made by Pan
Zavilovski, I do so only through love for Pan Ignas. I know that old
people like to put off and put off, just as if death let itself be
delayed by that. Oh, death will not be delayed! no, no! Helena has no
use for all those millions; but Ignas--he might then spread his wings
really. For me and Nitechka the question beyond all questions is his
talent. But if anything should come to pass--"
"What can I tell you?" said Pan Stanislav. "That Pan Zavilovski was
thinking of Ignas is for me undoubted, and I tell you why. About ten
days since, he gave command to bring some old arms to show them to me;
thereupon he turned to his daughter, and I heard him say to her, 'These
are not worth enumerating in the will; but after my death give them to
Ignas, for you have no use for them.' From this I infer that either
he made some will in favor of Ignas, or thought of it. Further I know
nothing, for I made no inquiry of him. Should there be any new will, it
will be known in a couple of days, and Panna Helena of a certainty will
not hide it."
"Do you know that honest Helena well? But no, no! You do not know her
as I know her, and I can be a surety for her. Never suspect her in my
presence! Helena hide a will? Never, sir!"
"Let the lady be so kind as not to ascribe to me a thought which I
have not, and from which I guard myself. The will can in no case be
concealed, for it is made before witnesses."
"And do you see that it is not even possible to conceal it, for it is
drawn up before witnesses? I was sure that it could not be concealed;
but Pan Zavilovski loved Nitechka so much that even out of regard for
her, he could not forget Ignas. He carried her in his arms when she was
so big, see." Here Pani Bronich put one hand above the other, so as to
give Pan Stanislav in that manner an idea of how big Lineta might have
been at the time; but after a while she added, "And maybe she wasn't
even that big."
Then they returned to the rest of the company, who, having finished
a survey of the garden, were assembling for dinner. Pan Stanislav,
looking at the charming face of Lineta, thought that when Pan
Zavilovski carried her in his arms, she might, in fact, have been a
nice and pretty child. Suddenly he remembered Litka, whom he carried in
his arms also, and inquired,--
"Then are you an old acquaintance of the deceased?"
"Oh--so," answered Lineta. "About four years. Aunt, how long is it
since we became acquainted with Pan Zavilovski?"
"Of what is that dear head thinking?" exclaimed Pani Bronich. "Ah, my
dear, what a happy age! and what a happy period!"
During this time Svirski, who was sitting near Panna Ratkovski, felt
that it would not be so easy for him to carry out the promise given
Marynia as it had seemed to him. Witnesses hindered him, and, still
more, a certain alarm about the heart, joined to a loss of usual
presence of mind and freedom. "To think," said he to himself, "that
I am a greater coward than I supposed." And he did not succeed. He
wanted at least to prepare the ground, and he talked of something
different from what he wished; he noticed now that Panna Ratkovski had
a beautiful neck, and pearl tones about her ears, and a very charming
voice--but he noticed with astonishment that this made him still
more timid. After lunch the whole company sat together as if through
perversity. The ladies were wearied by the funeral; and when, an hour
later, Pani Aneta announced that it was time to return, he felt at once
a sensation of disappointment and relief.
"It is not my fault," thought he; "I had a fixed purpose."
But when the ladies were taking their places, the feeling of solace
changed into sorrow for himself. He thought of his loneliness, and
of this, that he had no one on whom to bestow his reputation or his
property; he thought of his sympathy for Panna Ratkovski, of the
confidence which she had roused in him, of the sincere feeling which he
had conceived for her at the first glance,--and at the last moment he
took courage.
Giving his arm to the young lady to conduct her to the carriage, he
said,--
"Pan Osnovski has asked me to come again to Prytulov, and I will come,
but with a brush and palette; I should like to have your head."
And he stopped, trying how to pass from that which he had said to that
which he wished to say, and feeling at the same time that he needed to
hurry immensely, for there was no time. But Panna Ratkovski, evidently
unaccustomed to this, that any man should occupy himself with her,
inquired with unfeigned astonishment,--
"Mine?"
"Permit me to be your echo," replied Svirski, hurriedly, and in a
somewhat stifled voice, "and to repeat that word."
Panna Ratkovski looked at him as if not understanding what the question
was; but at that moment Pani Aneta called her to the carriage, so
Svirski had barely time to press her hand and say,--
"Till we meet again."
The carriage moved on. Her open parasol hid the face of Panna Ratkovski
quickly; the artist followed with his eyes the departing ladies, and at
last gave himself the question,--
"Have I made a declaration, or not?"
He was certain, however, that Panna Ratkovski would think, during the
whole drive, of what he had told her. He thought, also, that he had
answered adroitly, and that he had made good use of her question. In
this regard he was satisfied; but at the same time he was astonished
that he felt neither great joy nor fear, and that he had a certain dull
feeling that something was lacking in the whole matter. It seemed to
him that, in a moment so important, he was too little moved. And he
returned from the gate to the house in thoughtfulness.
Marynia, who had seen the parting from a distance, had red ears from
curiosity. Though her husband was not in the room at that moment,
she dared not ask first; but Svirski read so clearly in her eyes the
question, "Have you proposed?" that he laughed, and answered just as if
she had inquired,--
"Yes, almost. Not completely; there was no chance for further
conversation, so I could not receive an answer. I do not know even
whether I was understood."
Marynia, not seeing in him that animation with which he had spoken
to her before, and, ascribing this to alarm, wished to give him
consolation, but the entrance of Pan Stanislav prevented her. Svirski
too began to take farewell at once; but wishing evidently to satisfy
her curiosity before he went away, he said, not regarding the presence
of Pan Stanislav,--
"In every case I shall be in Prytulov to-morrow, or I shall write a
letter; I hope that the answer will be favorable."
Then he kissed her hands with great friendship, and, after a while,
found himself alone in his droshky, in clouds of yellow dust, and in
his own thoughts.
As an artist he was so accustomed to seizing in artist fashion various
details which intruded themselves on his eyes that he did so even
now, but mechanically, without proper consciousness, as if only at
the surface of his brain. But in the depth of it he was meditating on
everything that had happened.
"What the devil, Svirski!" said he to himself; "what is happening
to thee? Hast thou not passed twenty-five years so as to be able to
jump over this ditch? Has not that happened for which thou wert eager
this morning? Where is thy transport? thy delight? Why art thou not
shouting, At last! Thou art about to marry! Dost understand, old man?
At last! At last!"
But that was vain urging. The internal man remained cold. He understood
that what had happened ought to be happiness; but he did not respond
to it. Greater and greater astonishment was seizing him. He had acted,
it seems, with all knowledge and will and choice. He was not a child,
nor frivolous, nor a hysterical person, who knows not what he wants.
Having reasoned out, finally, that it would be well, he had not changed
his opinion. Panna Ratkovski, too, was ever that same retiring, "very
reliable person;" why did the thought that she would be the "little
woman," desired from of old, not warm him more vigorously? Why did
hope, changed now almost into certainty, not turn into joy? And at the
bottom of his soul there remained a certain feeling of disappointment.
"What I told her," thought he, "might be adroit, but it was dry. Let a
thunderbolt strike me, if it was not, and, besides, it was unfinished.
Simply I have no certainty yet, and I do not feel the thing as
finished."
Here the impressions of an artist interrupted the thread of his
thought. Sheep scattered on a sloping field visible from the road
shaded by distance, and also bathed in the sunlight, seemed on the
green background bright spots, with a strong tint of blue fringed with
gold.
"Those sheep are sky blue,--impressionists are right in a small
degree," muttered Svirski; "but may the devil take them! I am going to
marry!"
And he returned to his meditations. Yes! The result did not answer to
his hope and expectation. There are various thoughts which a man does
not wish to confess to himself; there are feelings also which he does
not wish to turn into definite thoughts. So it was with Svirski. He did
not love Panna Ratkovski, and here was the direct answer to all the
questions which he put to himself. But he dodged this answer as long
as he could. He did not like to confess that he took that girl only
because he had a great wish to marry. He wanted to explain to himself
that he did not feel the affair finished, which was an evasion. He was
not in love! Others reached love through a woman; but he wanted to fit
a woman to his general internal demand for loving,--that is, he went
by a road the reverse of the usual one. Others, having a divinity,
built for it a church; he, having a church ready, was bringing into it
a divinity, not because he had worshipped the divinity with all his
power previously, but because it seemed to him not badly fitted for
the architecture of the temple. And now he understood why he had shown
so much ardor and resolution in the morning, but was so cold at that
moment. By this was explained too the immense impetus in carrying out
his plan, and the want of spiritual "halleluia," after it had been
carried out.
Svirski's astonishment began to pass into sadness. He thought that he
would have done better, perhaps, if, instead of thinking so much about
a woman, instead of forming theories of what a woman ought to be, he
had caught up the first girl who pleased his heart and senses. He
understood now that a man loves the woman whom he does love, and that
he does not fit to her any preconceived ideas, for ideas of love--like
children--can be born only of a woman. All this was the more felt by
him since he was conscious that he could love immensely; and he saw
more and more positively that he was not loving as he might love. He
remembered what in his time Pan Stanislav had told him in Rome of a
certain young doctor, who, trampled by a thoughtless puppet, said:
"I know what she is; but I cannot tear my soul from her." There was
love strong as death; that man loved! It is unknown why Panna Castelli
and Pan Ignas came at once to Svirski's mind; he remembered also Pan
Ignas's face as he had seen it in Prytulov, lost in contemplation and,
as it were, rapt into Heaven.
And again was roused in him the artist, who by whole years of custom
takes the place of the man, even when the man is thinking of things
the most personal. For a while he forgot himself and Panna Ratkovski,
and thought of Pan Ignas's face, and of that which formed specially its
most essential expression. Was it a certain concentrated exaltation?
Yes! but there was something else which was still more essential.
And suddenly he trembled.
"A wonderful thing," thought he; "that is a tragic head."