Panna Helena, also, before her departure, received a letter from Pani
Bronich, in the style of that which Marynia had received, and, like
Marynia, she did not show it to Pan Ignas. Besides, Pan Ignas went away
with Svirski a week later without visiting any acquaintance except
Panna Ratkovski. Svirski, in person, kept him from all visits; and Pan
Stanislav, in conversations with his wife, declared that he had acted
rightly. "At present," said he, "it would be disagreeable both for
Ignas, and for us. Those who saw him every day are different, for they
are used to him; but no one else could refrain from looking at the scar
which is left on his forehead. Besides, Ignas has changed very much.
During the journey he will recover perfectly; on his return we shall
receive him as if nothing had happened; and strangers will see in him,
above all, a wealthy young lord."
And it might have been so in reality. But meanwhile, there was
loneliness around the Polanyetskis, because of that departure. Their
circle of acquaintances had scattered on all sides. Osnovski remained
still in Brussels; where Pani Aneta had gone no one knew. Pani Bronich
and Panna Castelli were in Paris; there was no one at Yasmen. Pani
Kraslavski and her daughter shut themselves in, and lived only for each
other; and finally sickness had confined to her bed poor Pani Emilia,
once and forever.
There remained only the Bigiels and the professor. But he was sick,
too, and, moreover, he had become so peculiar that strangers considered
him a lunatic. Some said with a certain irony that a man who thinks
that the spirit of Christianity will penetrate into politics as it
has into private life, must be indeed of sound mind. He began himself
to think about death, and to make preparations for it. Frequently he
repeated to Pan Stanislav his desire to die "in the ante-chamber to the
other world," and in view of that was preparing for Rome. But since he
loved Marynia greatly, he wished to wait till after her sickness.
In this way time passed in great seclusion for the Polanyetskis. It was
for that matter necessary for Marynia, who in recent days had felt very
ill, and necessary for her state of feeling. Pan Stanislav worked over
business in the counting-house, and over himself; he was working out in
himself a new man, and watching over his wife. She, too, was preparing
herself for a new epoch in life; and she was preparing herself gladly,
for it seemed to her that what she did would act upon both of them. Pan
Stanislav became daily less absolute in some way, more condescending
in his judgments of people, and milder, not only in relation to her,
but in relation to all persons with whom life brought him into contact.
He surrounded her with exceptional, with thoughtful care; and though
she supposed that this care had in view not so much her person as
the child, she recognized this as proper, and was grateful. She was
astonished at times by a kind of timidity and, as it were, hesitation
in his treatment of her; but not being able to divine that he was
simply curbing his feeling for her, she ascribed such exhibitions to
"Stas's" fear as to whether all would end well in her case.
Whole weeks passed in this manner. Their monotony was broken sometimes
by a letter from Svirski, who, when he could seize a free moment,
reported what he could of himself and Pan Ignas. In one of those
letters he inquired in Pan Ignas's name if Pani Polanyetski would
permit him to send a description of his impressions in the form of
letters to her. "I spoke with him of this in detail," wrote Svirski.
"He contends first that it might be agreeable to the lady to have
echoes from a land which has left her so many pleasant memories; and
second, that it would lighten his work greatly were he to write as if
privately. He is well; he walks, eats, and sleeps perfectly. Every
evening I see too that he sits at his desk and prepares to write. I
concluded that he was trying poetry, also. Somehow it does not succeed,
for he has not written anything yet, so far as I know. I suppose,
however, that all will come out by degrees, and in season. Meanwhile
the form of letters would lighten his work, perhaps, really. I will add
in conclusion that he mentions Panna Helena with immense gratitude; and
at every mention of Panna Ratkovski, his eyes become bright. I speak of
her to him frequently, for what can I, poor man, do? When anything is
not predestined, there is no help in the case; and when it is written
down to a man that he must remain like a stake in a hedge, he will not
put forth leaves in spring even."
In the middle of November a letter came from Rome, which roused much
thought in the Polanyetskis. Svirski wrote as follows:--
"Imagine to yourselves that Pani Bronich is here and Panna
Castelli, and that I have had an interview with them. In Rome I
am as if at home; hence I learned of their coming on the second
day. And do you know what I did immediately? I persuaded Ignas to
go to Sicily, in which, moreover, I found no great difficulty. I
thought to myself, 'he will sit in Syracuse or in Taormina; and
if by chance he falls into the hands of the Mafia the cost of
his ransom will be less than what he paid for the privilege of
wearing Panna Nitechka's ring for a short time.' I said to myself,
'if he and she are to meet on earth and be reconciled, let them
meet and be reconciled; but I have no wish to take that work on
my conscience, especially after what has happened.' Ignas is well
to all seeming; but he has not recovered yet mentally, and in
that state he might be brought easily to something which he would
regret for a lifetime. As to those ladies, I divined at once why
they came here, and I was delighted in soul that I had hindered
their tricks; that my supposition was to the point is shown by
this, that some days later a letter came to Ignas, on which I
recognized the handwriting of the widow of that heaven-dwelling
Teodor. I wrote on the envelope that Pan Ignas had gone away, it
was unknown whither, and sent the letter retro.
"That, however, was only the beginning of the history. Next
morning I received a letter with an invitation to a talk. I
answered that I must refuse with regret; that my occupations do
not permit me to give myself such a pleasure. In answer to this,
I received a second letter with an appeal to my character, my
talent, my descent, my heart, my sympathy for an unhappy woman:
and with the prayer that I should either go myself, or appoint
an hour in my studio. There was no escape,--I went. Pani Bronich
herself received me with tears, and a whole torrent of narratives
which I shall not repeat, but in which 'Nitechka' appears as
a Saint Agnes the martyr. 'With what can I serve,' ask I? She
answers: 'It is not a question of anything, but a kind word from
Pan Ignas. The child is sick, she is coughing, in all likelihood
she will not live the year out; but she wants to die with a word
of forgiveness.' At this I confess that I was softened a little,
but I held out. Moreover, I could not give the address of Pan
Ignas, for I did not know really at what hotel he had stopped. I
was sweating as in a steam bath; and at last I promised something
in general, that if Ignas would begin at any time to talk with
me about Panna Castelli, that I would persuade him to act in
accordance with the wish of Pani Bronich.
"But this was not all yet. When I was thinking of going, Panna
Lineta herself rushed in on a sudden, and turned to her aunt
with the request to let her talk with me alone. I will say in
parenthesis that she has grown thin, and that she seems taller
than usual, really like 'a poplar,' which any wind might break.
Hardly were we left alone when she turned to me and said, 'Aunt
is trying to make me innocent, and is doing so through love for
me. I am thankful to her; but I cannot endure it, and I declare to
you that I am guilty, that I am not worthy of anything, and that
if I am unhappy I have deserved it a hundred times.' When I heard
this I was astonished; but I saw that she was talking sincerely,
for her lips were quivering and her eyes were mist-covered. You
may say to yourselves that I have a heart made of butter; but I
confess that I was moved greatly, and I inquired what I could
do for her. To this she answered that I could do nothing; but
she begged me to believe at least that she took no part in those
efforts of her aunt to renew relations, that after Pan Ignas's
act her eyes were opened to what she had done, and that she would
never forget it in her life. At last she said once again, that she
alone was the cause of everything, and begged me to repeat our
conversation to Pan Ignas, not immediately, however, but only when
he could not suspect that she wished to influence him.
"Well, and what do you think? Would you lend belief to anything
like that? I see clearly two things, first, that Pan Ignas's
attempt on his life, happen what may, must have shaken her
terribly; and second, that she is fabulously unhappy,--who knows,
she may be sick really. So the opinion of Panna Helena comes to my
mind, who, as you repeated to me, says that we must not despair of
a man while he is living. In every case it is something uncommon.
I believe too that even if Pan Ignas wished now to return to her,
she would not consent, simply because she does not feel that she
is worthy of him. As to me, I think that there are many better and
nobler female natures than hers in the world; but may the deuce
take me if I act against her!"
In continuation Svirski inquired about health, and sent obeisances to
the Bigiels.
This letter made a great impression on all, and was the occasion of
numerous discussions between the Polanyetskis and the Bigiels. It
appeared at once too how far Pan Stanislav was changed. Formerly he
would not have found words enough to condemn Panna Castelli, and never
would he have believed that any chord of honor would make itself heard
in a woman of her kind; but at present, when Pani Bigiel, who, as well
as the other ladies, belonged soul and body to Panna Ratkovski's side,
expressed doubts, and said, "Is not that merely a change of tactics on
the part of Panna Castelli?" he said,--
"No; she is too young for that, and she seems to me sincere. It is a
great thing if she acknowledges her fault so unconditionally, for it
proves that untruth in life has disgusted her."
After a moment's hesitation, he added,--
"I remember, for example, that more than once Mashko acknowledged, as
it were, that he was going by a wrong and false road; but right away
he sought reasons to justify himself: 'With us it is necessary to do
so;' 'That is the fault of our society;' 'I pay with the money that
is current.' How much of this have I heard! And that was all untrue,
too. Meanwhile there is a certain bravery in declaring, It is my fault
absolutely. And whoso has that bravery has something left yet."
"Then do you judge that Pan Ignas would do well to return to her?"
"I do not judge at all, nor do I suppose that it could happen."
But the living interest roused by news from Rome, together with anxiety
for Pan Ignas and Panna Castelli, passed away soon, under the pressure
of a more important anxiety, which was hanging over the house of the
Polanyetskis.
Toward the end of November Marynia's health began to fail evidently.
It had been failing for some time, but she concealed this fact as
long as possible. A painful palpitation of the heart came on her, and
weakness so great that there were days when she could not move out of
an armchair. Next came pains in her back and giddiness. In the course
of a week she changed so much in the eyes, and grew thin to such a
degree, that even the doctors, who up to that time had considered those
symptoms as the ordinary forerunners of approaching labor, began to be
alarmed at them. Her transparent face assumed at times a bluish tinge;
and seemed, especially when the sick woman kept her eyes closed, like
the face of a dead person. Even Pani Bigiel, the greatest optimist near
Marynia, could not at last resist fears; the doctor declared to Pan
Stanislav plainly that under such conditions the expected event might
be dangerous, both in itself and in sequences. Marynia, though weaker
every day and more exhausted, was indeed the only one who did not lose
hope now.
But Pan Stanislav lost it. Such a grievous time came on him that all
sufferings and misfortunes which hitherto in life he had gone through
seemed to him nothing in comparison with his terrible dread, which
often and often became utter despair. Formerly after his wedding,
in his conceptions of marriage and his hopes of the future, a child
was the main thing; now for the first time he felt that he would give
not only one, but all the children that he could ever have, to save
that one beloved Marynia. And his heart was cut when at times Marynia
repeated with her weakened voice the question which before she had
asked more than once, "Stas, but if it is a boy?" He would have been
glad to fall at her feet, embrace them, and say, "Let the devil take
it, boy or girl, if only thou art left;" but he had to smile at her,
and assure her calmly that it was all one to him. His former terrors
fell upon him again; and that hope, roused by Marynia's words, that
by God's favor a wave of evil returns as remorse only, was dissipated
without a trace. Now, at moments, he had again the feeling that
Marynia's sickness might be just that returning wave. How it might be
that wave he could not tell, for in vain did reason say to him that
between the offence of Pani Osnovski or of Panna Castelli, for example,
and the punishment which met them, there is an immediate connection
which there is not in his case. Fear answered him, that evil may filter
through life by such secret channels that the reason of man cannot
follow it. And at this thought a dread seized him that was simply
mysterious. A man in misfortune loses power of accurate reasoning;
he lives under the weight of terror, and under such a weight was Pan
Stanislav living. He saw only the precipice, and his own helplessness.
More than once, while looking at the haggard face of Marynia, he said
to himself, "One must be mad to suppose that she may not die;" and he
sought desperately on the faces of those surrounding her for even a
shade of hope, and with every drop of his blood, with every atom of his
brain, with his whole soul and heart, he rose up against her death.
It seemed to him an inconceivable injustice that she will have to
close her eyes forever before he can show her how he loves her beyond
every estimate; before he rewards her for all his carelessness, harsh
treatment, egotism, and faithlessness; before he tells her that she
has become the soul of his soul, something not only loved above all in
his life, but revered. He repeated to himself that if God would not do
this for him He ought to do it for her, so that in going from the world
she might leave it with a feeling at least of that happiness which she
had deserved. From these insolent suggestions to God of how He ought
to act, he passed again to compunction, to humility, and to prayer.
But meanwhile Marynia was daily more and more dangerously ill, and he,
between two despairs, one of which shouted, "This cannot be," and the
other, "It must be,"--he struggled as if in a vice.
Finally, from necessity, from the fear of taking hope from Marynia, he
was forced to pretend in her presence that he paid little attention
to her sickness. And the doctor and Pani Bigiel warned him daily not
to alarm her; his own reason indicated the same to him. And here was
a new torture, since it came to his mind that she might look on this
as a lack of feeling, and die with the conviction that he had never
loved her. Thus everything was changed in him utterly. Sleeplessness,
torment, and alarm brought him to a kind of sickly exaltation, in which
even the danger, which of itself was too evident, he saw in a still
higher degree. It seemed to him that there was no hope, and at times he
thought of Marynia as if already dead. For whole days he was thinking
over every good point of her character,--her words, her kindness, her
calmness. He remembered how all loved her, and he reproached himself
desperately, saying that he had never been worthy of her, that he had
not loved her sufficiently, that he had not valued her enough, and, to
crown all, had broken faith with her; and therefore he must lose her,
and lose her deservedly.
And in the feeling that a thing so terrible was also deserved, and that
it was too late for any correction, was something simply heart-rending.
Even persons who during life were always loved greatly, when they go
from this world, leaving their friends in sorrow because they did not
love the departed enough, leave behind, of all sorrows, that which is
sorest.
At the beginning of December, Svirski and Pan Ignas returned, after
two months' journey, from Italy. Pan Stanislav had grown so thin and
haggard in that interval that they hardly knew him; and he, quite
sunk in misery, turned scarcely any attention to them, and listened
as in a dream to words of hope and consolation from both, as well as
narratives, with which the honest artist tried to divert his suffering
mind. What did he care now for Pan Ignas, Pani Bronich, Panna Castelli,
in face of the fact that Marynia might die any day? Svirski, who had
immense friendship for him, wishing to find from some point a little
hope, betook himself to Pani Bigiel; but even she had not much hope to
offer. The doctors themselves did not know well what the trouble was,
for to her condition were added various complications, which could not
be defined even. It was only known that the heart of the sick woman
acted irregularly; they feared above all that, as a result of defective
circulation, some coagulation in the veins might result, which would
cause sudden death. Besides, even in case of a happy delivery, they
feared a number of things,--exhaustion, loss of strength, and all
those results which come only later. Svirski convinced himself that
Pani Bigiel did not deceive herself either when, at the end of the
conversation, she fell into tears, and said,--
"Poor Marynia! but he, poor man too. If even a child should be left
him, he might find strength to bear the blow."
And when she had dried her tears, she added,--
"As it is, I do not understand how he endures it all."
That was true; Pan Stanislav did not eat and did not sleep. He had
not shown himself at the counting-house for a long time; he went out
only for flowers, which Marynia loved always, and the sight of which
cheered her. But she was so sick that whenever he went for a bunch
of chrysanthemums he returned with the terrible thought that perhaps
he was bringing it for her coffin. Marynia's own eyes opened to
this,--that perhaps her death was coming. She did not wish to speak of
this to her husband; but before Pani Bigiel she fell to weeping one
day in grief for her own life and for "Stas." She was tortured by the
thought, how would he bear it, for she wanted that he should be awfully
sorry for her, and at the same time, that he should not suffer much.
Before him she pretended yet a long time to feel sure that all would
end happily.
But later, when fainting spells came, she summoned courage to talk with
him openly; this seemed to her a duty. Therefore one night, when Pani
Bigiel, overcome by drowsiness, went to sleep, and he was watching near
her as usual, she stretched her hand to him, and said,--
"Stas, I wanted to talk with thee, and beg for one thing."
"What is it, my love?" asked Pan Stanislav.
She thought for a time evidently how to express her prayer; and then
she began to speak,--
"Promise me--I know that I shall recover surely--but promise me that
should it be a boy, thou wilt love and be kind."
Pan Stanislav, by a superhuman effort, restrained the sobbing which
seized his breast, and said calmly,--
"My dear love, I will always love thee and him, be sure."
Thereupon Marynia tried to raise his hand to her lips, but from
weakness she was not able to do so; then she smiled at him from
thankfulness. And again she said, "Do not think that I suppose for a
moment anything terrible, not at all! but I should like to confess."
A shiver went through Pan Stanislav from head to feet.
"Well, my child," answered he, with a voice of fear, and as it were not
his own voice.
And, recollecting that once her expression "service of God" pleased
him, and wishing to let him know that it was not the question of
anything else here but the performance of ordinary religious duties,
she repeated, with an almost glad smile,--
"The service of God."
The confession took place next morning. Pan Stanislav was so sure that
that was the end that he was almost astonished because Marynia was
alive yet, and because she was even a little better in the evening.
He did not dare to admit hope into his soul. But she became brighter,
and said that she breathed more easily. About midnight she began the
usual warfare with him about his going to rest. Indeed, from trouble
of mind and toil he looked not much better than she did. He refused at
first, contending that he had slept in the daytime, and that he was
refreshed, which was not true; but she insisted absolutely. He yielded
all the more that there was a special woman and Pani Bigiel, besides
the doctor, who for a week had slept in their house, and who assured
him now that for the time there was no reason to expect any turn for
the worse.
But when he went out, he did as he did usually; that is, he sat in an
armchair at the door, and began to listen to what was happening in
the room. In this way the hours of night passed. At the least noise
he sprang up; but when the noise ceased he sat down again and began
to think hurriedly and chaotically, as people do over whom danger is
hanging. But at times his thoughts pressed one another, grew confused
from weariness, forming, as it were, a dense crowd in which he was
wandering without power to know anything. Sleep also tortured him. He
had uncommon strength; but for ten days he knew not how he lived. Only
black coffee and feverishness kept him on his feet. He did not yield
even then, though his head was as heavy as lead and the crowd of his
thoughts changed, as it were, into a black cloud, without a clear spot.
He merely repeated to himself yet that Marynia was sick and he ought
not to fall asleep; but these words had not the least meaning for him
now.
At last toil, exhaustion, and sleepless nights conquered. A stony
invincible sleep seized him,--a sleep in which there was no dreaming,
in which reality perished, in which the whole world perished, and in
which life itself was benumbed.
He was only roused toward morning by a knocking at the door.
"Pan Stanislav!" called the smothered voice of Pani Bigiel.
He sprang to his feet, and, gaining consciousness that moment, ran out
of that room. With one glance he took in Marynia's bed; and at sight of
the closed curtains his feet tottered under him.
"What has happened?" whispered he, with whitening lips.
But Pani Bigiel answered with a voice equally low, panting a trifle,--
"You have a son."
And she put her finger on her lips.