Rosa was singing as she crossed the fields. She felt so well, so
light-hearted. At last she had been to confession. The snow had melted,
Eastertide was drawing near, now she could sing.
"Mary Magdalene weeping
Went to Jesu's tomb.
Her dear Lord, her sorrow knowing.
Came to light her gloom.
She saw His glorious countenance."
Her clear voice sounded jubilant as it rose into the blue sky. It was
spring, spring. The fresh grass was sprouting near the broad ditch, the
corn that had been kept warm under the snow was now green and thick.
Christ was risen and therefore the earth rejoiced.
Rosa took out of her pocket the paper on which she, during the winter,
had noted down all she had to confess. She had examined her conscience
most carefully; it was a long, long piece of paper, with many sins
written on it. But she had got rid of them all now, and that was why
she felt so happy. Now she could tear it to pieces.
She stood still, and tearing the paper into shreds threw them high into
the air. Off they flew. How the wind carried them away, higher and
higher, as high as the lark which was hovering up there. They were
flying to God.
[Pg 114]
Rosa mingled her song with the lark's trills, in joyous, jerky rhythm.
"The stone was rolled away
As to the grave they came.
At its right side in raiment bright
An angel sat and calmed their fright. Hallelujah."
It was no longer the same shrill, piping child's voice; it was a girl's
voice now, full and pleasing. When there was any singing going on in
the school, the master always told Rosa Tiralla to stand up first so as
to lead the others. She liked doing that. Mr. Böhnke was altogether
very good to her, and it would grieve her to leave school. She would
soon be fourteen, and then she wouldn't do any more lessons; then--a
strange, dreamy look came into her eyes--oh, no, she wasn't going to
marry like other girls and have children--no. Her face, that had all at
once clouded over, grew bright again; she was to be the Bride of the
Church, her mother had said so. Mr. Böhnke said so as well, and the
priest said so. And they praised her for it. And Marianna stared at
her, "Oh, a nun! That's something very beautiful, something very grand,
oh!" And Jendrek almost looked upon her as a saint already. Everybody
looked at her in quite a different way now from what they used to do
when she was nothing but little Rosa Tiralla. Only her daddy wouldn't
hear of it--poor daddy. What a pity it was that he was so wicked. A
look full of deep thought cast a sudden gloom over the young face that
had just been so bright. Was her mother right? Would it have been
better for him never to have been born?
Rosa used to cry bitterly when the thought came to her that her father
might perhaps never go to heaven. Her dear father. He really was good;
[Pg 115] how could it be that her mother and Mr. Böhnke always said he
was not?
Doubts had lately crept into Rosa's heart, her belief in her father had
been shaken. Had her mother or the schoolmaster brought this about, or
had she become alive to many things that did not please her? Why did
her father always pinch Marianna's cheek, or even her leg when she was
standing on the ladder? That wasn't nice of him. And he used to swear,
and it's wicked to swear. Oh, how she would beg her dear father to
leave off swearing--her dear father--yes, yes, he was still her dear
father.
When Rosa now saw him come tramping across the field to meet her, she
ran up to him and threw herself into his arms.
He had been looking out for his little daughter for a long time, and
welcomed her with a loud laugh that could be heard far across the
fields.
"Well, my darling, have you confessed all your sins? _Psia krew_, if a
man had as few sins to confess as you, he wouldn't need to go to
confession."
"I've fourteen rosaries to say over," said Rosa, looking very
important. Then she added gravely, "Seven for myself and seven for you,
father."
He gave a boisterous laugh. Then he kissed her. "You're my consolation,
the key which is to open heaven's door for me. I've always said, pray,
pray, my angel. If you're praying, the devil will bang the door and
leave me outside."
Rosa shuddered. What horrid things her daddy always said. How could he
joke about such matters?
"Ah, daddy," she said, in a low, insinuating voice, thrusting her
narrow little hand into his big one, "I'm always praying that you may
go to heaven."
[Pg 116]
"Really?" He was touched. "That's very nice of you."
"Mother also prays that you may go to heaven, father."
Mr. Tiralla was also very touched to hear that. Oh, yes, she was a
splendid little woman was his Sophia, and loved him even if she didn't
always show it, especially lately. Ugh, how cold and forbidding she was
sometimes; she made you freeze. But she was a pious woman. Then
knitting his brows together, as though something were tormenting him,
he said to the child, "When you are married, my dear Rosa, always try
to please your husband; he'll like that." He gave a little sigh,
but then he laughed. "When Mikolai comes back from the army and
marries, I'll rub it into him, too, 'Take a complaisant wife.' Ha, ha,
his mother, my late wife, Hanusia, was complaisant enough, that's
certain--ha, ha."
"Will Mikolai soon be coming back from the army?" inquired Rosa. She
had been such a stupid little thing when he had gone away three years
before. But now she was wiser, and she realized how nice it was to have
a little brother. The only time he had come home on furlough during all
those years she had been very ill with scarlet fever, and he hadn't
been allowed to come to her on account of the infection. She was,
therefore, doubly glad to see him now. How she would love him. "Will my
little brother soon be coming back?" she repeated anxiously.
"H'm, a nice little brother!" laughed her father. "Do you really think
they could do with a 'little brother' in the horse guards? He's a big
brother, I can tell you, an enormous fellow. He was as tall as I when I
went to see him last autumn. And what fists he has got. He won't want a
team of oxen to pull [Pg 117] the cart, he'll do it himself. But he'll
be good to his little sister. Who wouldn't be good to you, my wee one?"
He took hold of her little face with his big hand and stroked it
tenderly and carefully.
Rosa smiled. "I'll love him," she cried enthusiastically, "and he'll
love me. We're all to love each other, Jesus bids us do so."
"Yes, that's what I think, too," said her father, "we're all to love
each other." He suddenly thought of his wife, from whom he had neither
received kiss nor friendly look that day. So instead of inspecting his
corn, as he had intended doing, he returned home with his daughter.
They walked hand in hand. Their figures--his thick-set, a massive
tree-trunk, hers a delicate leaf blown about by the wind--could be seen
afar off in the flat, treeless field.
Mrs. Tiralla was in the sitting-room with Böhnke, and saw them in the
distance through the gateway. "There he is again," she said, with a
look of disgust on her face.
Already? The schoolmaster sighed. He had been so delighted to find the
woman he adored alone at home--he had seen little Rosa on her way to
the village--and now they were so soon to be disturbed. What did that
horrid fellow mean by always coming back? Böhnke quite forgot that this
house to which he came regularly every Sunday and very often besides,
belonged to Mr. Tiralla, and that the latter invariably received him
with a loud welcome and ordered the best they had to be served up in
his honour. But the farmer's presence always inconvenienced him, and
especially to-day. Mrs. Tiralla had been about to pour out her heart to
him, and the thought of the moment when at last he would be [Pg 118]
able to console the sad-looking woman made him tremble.
"I'm in trouble," she had said, when he had asked her if she had a
headache. There were dark, heavy shadows under her eyes, and her pale
mouth drooped so sadly that he had thought she was ill.
"Oh, how I'm suffering," she had cried, in a sudden outburst of grief
and fury, and had run up and down the room with both hands flung high
above her head. She had come to a standstill close in front of him, and
her black eyes had blazed. "What would you say if I ran away from him?
Away, anywhere, over the fields, only away."
The passion with which she had uttered those words had terrified him.
Away, away over the fields, but where would she go?
"That's for you to tell me." Then she had given a loud, scornful laugh;
in spite of all his cleverness he did not know where she was to go
either. There really was nobody, nobody who could advise her. What
would he say if she went into the Przykop into the deep morass, where
the pool under the drooping birches was just now as deep as any lake on
account of the rainy spring? If she went into it up to her mouth, or
even a little further, and never more appeared, what would he say then?
Would he shed a tear in memory of her, a little forget-me-not in his
book of memories?
"God forbid!" he had exclaimed, seizing hold of her hand in sudden
fear. How could she say such things, even have such thoughts? She was
so good, so beautiful, there was still much happiness in store for her.
"Never, so long as Mr. Tiralla is alive!"
"But he won't go on living for ever."
[Pg 119]
Then she had flashed a glance at him, a swift and strangely
scrutinizing glance. It was as though she had wanted to confide
something to him, but dared not. Had he said that without thinking, or
did he really mean it?
Mrs. Tiralla had shrunk back into herself again in a sudden fit of
shyness. But she could not bear to keep silent, she simply longed to
speak to somebody about it all. If only she could--dared--say to him,
"In a secret chamber of the loft there stands an old chest, and in that
old chest I've hidden something." But then if he should say, "Poison!"
and should shudder with horror when he said it? She eyed him narrowly
through her lowered lids, whilst her long lashes slowly fanned her pale
cheeks like a pair of weary wings.
But the young man saw nothing but her beauty, his eyes were fixed on
the mental vision of the charms which her enamoured husband had
described to him. How he pitied this beautiful woman. What a misfortune
to be chained to such a man. She wanted to run away, to take her own
life? Oh, how dreadful for such a beautiful creature to be sick of
life. That overbearing fellow, that scoundrel! _Psia krew_, why
couldn't he die? Then she would be free.
He had not meant anything when he had said before, "But he won't go on
living for ever." It had merely been a phrase, used in order to console
the poor woman. But now those words seemed to express something
desirable, something really necessary. Was there any reason why the man
should go on living for ever? An all-wise Providence had no doubt seen
what was happening and would probably remove this fellow, who would
leave no vacant place behind him, and would be mourned for by no one.
How easily he could be carried off by illness, brought on by a cold [Pg
120] in the spring, or by excessive eating. No, Mr. Tiralla could not
go on living for ever. Besides, he was much older than she. Only have
patience, he would not go on living for ever. He must not, no, by all
the saints--and this certainty impressed itself firmly on the
schoolmaster's mind--Mr. Tiralla _should_ not go on living for ever!
The man drew a deep, trembling breath of relief, after which he felt
easier. Then he raised his eyes, which had been lowered in profound
thought, and met those of the woman. They looked long and searchingly
at each other.
"There he is again," sighed Mrs. Tiralla, who was standing near the
window.
Böhnke noticed the disgust depicted on her face, that beautiful face,
whose mouth was polluted every day by the word "beast." Had he not seen
for himself how that monster had annoyed her with his kisses? The young
man grew cold, then hot, whilst the flames of jealousy rushed to his
head. Nobody, nobody should kiss her mouth, if he might not kiss it,
too--no, only he, quite alone. He stretched out his hand gropingly and
seized hers. The woman was weeping, and she allowed him to do so. Then
he jerked out hurriedly--there was no time to lose, Mr. Tiralla could
come in any moment--jerked out in a breathless voice and without
reflection, but still as though he were swearing it solemnly:
"Don't cry. By God, Mr. Tiralla shall not go on living for ever!"
"Mammie," cried Röschen joyously, as she came into the room, and
letting her father's hand go she ran up to her mother. "I'm to give you
Father Szypulski's kind regards. Oh, it was so beautiful! I'm so happy!
I could sing the whole time, I----" Then, [Pg 121] catching sight of
the schoolmaster, she curtseyed and held out her hand to him, blushing.
Böhnke bent over her more than was necessary, for she reached up to his
shoulders, but he wished to hide his gleaming eyes and his cheeks that
were burning with excitement. He could not have looked Mr. Tiralla in
the face at that moment.
But the woman was perfectly calm. She had fully understood what it was
the schoolmaster had said to her, and a feeling of profound relief
filled her heart with joy. Ah, now the Holy Virgin was at last going to
keep the promise she had given her through Rosa. She had sent her
somebody who was on her side, and who would advise her and help
her--for had he not clearly said, "I'll look after that"?--and who
belonged to her alone.
She felt so happy and cheerful now, so different. She kissed Rosa and
even held out her cheek of her own accord when her husband, with a
smirk on his face, reproached her for not having given him a single
kiss that day. But all the time she kept her eyes fixed on the
schoolmaster, who was standing at the window biting his lip.
How could she be so calm, so bright, yes, really so bright? Böhnke
couldn't understand it. He felt far from happy. He felt as though he
had done a very stupid thing, as though he had allowed himself to be
carried away by his emotions. He was seized with a sudden feeling of
anger and indignation against Mrs. Tiralla; why had she complained to
him, what had that disgusting tale of her marriage to do with him?
But then when she gazed at him with her beautiful, sparkling eyes in
that familiar, friendly way, and smiled at him with the same sweet
smile that little Rosa had inherited from her, then his anger melted
[Pg 122] as well as all his scruples. She had never seemed more lovely.
Her white ball-dress had suited her well, but this short, plain,
woollen skirt, which showed her neat feet and shiny leather slippers,
the white apron, the check blouse and small white collar suited her a
hundred times better. Oh, how beautiful, how beautiful she looked! His
head was in a whirl.
The farmer invited him to have supper with them, and he gladly
accepted. He even accepted an invitation for Easter.
Mr. Tiralla was basking in the light of his Sophia's smiles, and felt
so happy that he would have liked to invite the whole world. He sat at
the table and laughed as he satisfied his enormous appetite. It was
still Lent, and the meal was frugal, "but at Easter, my little Böhnke,"
he cried, filling his mouth with fried potatoes, "at Easter you shall
have a feast!"
Mrs. Tiralla and the schoolmaster exchanged a glance. What impertinence
to say, "my little Böhnke!" But he was always so rough and vulgar.
Rosa sat near her father. She did not want anything to eat; she never
ate much, and to-day her happiness had quite taken away her appetite.
It had been such a beautiful, beautiful day. Was it because she had
prayed so very fervently at the altar that her daddy was now so good?
He didn't swear at all, he didn't even look at Marianna, although her
short, white sleeves were fresh from the wash. They reached as far as
her bare elbows, and she had a black bodice on and all her coloured
beads round her neck. Now her mother would be kinder to her daddy. Oh,
if only it could always be like this. How much nicer it was when her
mother didn't cry or look angry. To-day was just like Easter, when the
grave opened and Christ rose, hallelujah.
[Pg 123]
Her quiet happiness had brought a flush to her pale cheeks. She did not
say much; Rosa was only eloquent in her prayers and when she spoke of
what transformed her narrow, dark chamber into a Garden of Eden, and of
what took place between heaven and earth. But she pressed her father's
hand repeatedly, and when her mother happened to touch her in passing
anything over the table, the child would furtively raise her sleeve to
her lips and kiss it.
"Rosa looks better than she did last winter," remarked the
schoolmaster, in order to say something. It was really quite immaterial
to him if the anæmic child looked paler or not, but his own silence
terrified him. Surely the old man must notice something?
"She is certainly much better," answered Mrs. Tiralla hastily. "She
only complained of being ill for a short time. Our winters are so raw.
But now she's always well and happy, aren't you, darling? How could she
be anything but happy, she, the Holy Virgin's favourite? Tell Mr.
Böhnke what she has revealed to you in your dreams, darling," and she
nodded encouragingly to the child.
"I've not dreamt it." Rosa grew almost angry, and she flushed up to her
hair-roots. "You're not to say that I dreamt it, mother. It was really
true; I was just as wide awake as you are, and father, and Mr. Böhnke.
If you dream you surely don't see the cupboard and the clothes rack and
the washstand and the wall, and you don't hear the clock ticking and
father snoring downstairs and the wind howling in the pines outside. It
was all there as usual, and I was lying in my bed as usual. But the
room was full of a bright light. That was because the Holy Virgin was
there. She was standing in the middle of the room. She had her crown on
her head, and she wore a blue [Pg 124] mantle, which was wide and had
lots of folds, oat of which little angels were peeping."
Rosa made a pause, as though she wished to note the effect of this
wonderful communication on her hearers.
Mr. Tiralla did not say a word. He was sitting with his head buried in
his hands.
"Dear, dear!" exclaimed the schoolmaster, in order to show that he was
attending. What on earth was the child talking about? He had not been
listening very carefully.
But the woman nodded again to her daughter, who continued with
sparkling eyes.
"Rosa,' said the dear Virgin. 'Rosa Tiralla, be not afraid.' 'I'm not
afraid,' I said. Then she went on, 'I've chosen you. You are to remain
a virgin and to go to the Grey Sisters or to the Ladies of the Sacred
Heart, and there you are to pray for the conversion of sinners, for the
strengthening of the faith----'" Here Rosa broke off. "I told all this
to Father Szypulski to-day, and he explained to me what she really
meant by it. I'm to pray for the conversion of the heterodox (those who
don't believe the same as we do) and for the strengthening and
propagation of our faith, which is the only faith which can save. And
I'm to pray for my dear parents, and especially for my dear father,
that his soul and his hands may again become clean, so that he can
leave Purgatory and go to the dear angels above. Oh, father, dear
father," she cried, in a terrified voice, putting her curly head down
on his shoulder as he sat next to her, "how awful it would be if you
were to be lost for ever!"
"_Psia krew!_" So far Mr. Tiralla had not said a word, but now he
started up from his seat and banged the table with his fist. "Stop that
twaddle!" He [Pg 125] raised his hand as though he were going to box
the child's ears. She shrank back and grew deadly pale.
"But, Mr. Tiralla!" exclaimed the schoolmaster, seizing hold of his
arm, "it's wonderful, perfectly wonderful!"
Mrs. Tiralla made the sign of the cross as she cried, "Holy Mother!
What a sin he's committing! May God not lay it to our charge."
"Hold your tongue," shouted her husband furiously. "You're making the
girl quite crazy. And I'll not have her made crazy. Holy Virgin--Grey
Sisters--Ladies of the Sacred Heart--all twaddle. She's to sleep when
she goes to bed and not invent such nonsense. After to-day her bed is
to be brought down into my room. Then I'll see if the Holy Virgin will
come to her again. I feel certain she won't."
"That wouldn't be at all suitable," said Mrs. Tiralla in an icy tone.
"Rosa is already a big girl."
"Tut, tut! Whether it's suitable or not, it'll be better for her to see
what a man is like than to have her head turned with such unnatural
stuff." He cast a suspicious glance at his wife.
Mrs. Tiralla grew frightened. If there were any talk about Rosa she
knew that her husband was quite a different man; then he was no longer
a fool, or a bear that growled a little and then let her lead him. So
she wisely said:
"Very well, as you like. Let Rosa sleep down here with you. But I tell
you, you'll not be able to scare away what is coming to her. Nobody can
scare away what is coming," she added impressively, and gazed at him
with such a strange look in her black eyes that the superstitious man
shuddered.
"Rosa is one of the chosen ones," she continued. "She sees what you'll
never see, and hears what you'll [Pg 126] never hear. Very well, let
her come down to you. Take firm hold of her hands and of her feet, too,
she'll still leave you." The woman grew more and more excited the
longer she spoke, and she gazed at her husband with eyes full of
rebuke. "It'll be bad for you that you resist in this way. The saints
will bear it in mind, and will not forgive you, and when you cry out
for them to deliver you from Purgatory, they will not deliver you.
You're a wicked man, a scoffer and a blasphemer! Alas, alas, what will
become of you?"
"Do you really think so, really?" Mr. Tiralla felt somewhat
disconcerted, her great earnestness bewildered him, and he moved
restlessly backwards and forwards on his chair. If she were right? No,
it was nothing but romantic nonsense. He was still in possession of his
senses, and he would never, no never, allow any one to persuade his
little girl, his dear Röschen, who was to bring him so much happiness
in this life--healthy grandchildren and all kinds of good things--to go
into a convent. Yes, persuade her, that was the word. Sophia had always
been too pious, he was sorry to say, and the priest, and the
schoolmaster? "To the devil with you all!" he shouted, gaining courage
at the sound of his own voice. "May he be struck with lightning who
dares contradict me, when I say she's to be married as soon as
possible. Nobody can be too young for that. And I'll procure her a
nice husband. Then she'll grow happy and buxom, and when she gets a
little boy on her lap--such a wee fellow who kicks about and wants
nursing--then she'll not get any more of those stupid fancies. The Holy
Virgin, the Holy Virgin! we pray to our Lady. But when Rosa is a mother
herself, she'll have other things to think of." He laughed, [Pg 127]
his anger had almost disappeared again at the beautiful prospect which
lay before him.
At that moment Mrs. Tiralla gave a shrill scream. "There, you
see--there, you see what you've done."
Rosa had given a deep, plaintive sigh, her head had drooped forward
like a withered flower, and she would have fallen from her chair if the
schoolmaster had not caught her in his arms. She had fainted.
Mr. Tiralla was frightened to death. Alas, alas, what had he done? He
would have liked to beat himself, to pull off his head. He struck his
forehead with his clenched hand and called himself the most
unflattering names he could think of, "fool, blockhead, idiot." He
shouted for Marianna, roared for water, ordered Tokay--no, gin--wanted
to pour it down the girl's throat, spilt it all over her, then called
himself once more all kinds of names and almost wept.
They had pushed him away from his daughter. The schoolmaster still held
her in his arms, whilst Marianna rubbed her cold feet and Mrs. Tiralla
her temples, and breathed on her with the warm, vivifying breath from
her powerful lungs. She did not feel so terrified, she knew what it
was. Rosa used to faint very easily, it was on account of her age, the
doctor had said, and there was nothing to be anxious about. But she
pretended to be alarmed, for he deserved it. What if the child never
recovered consciousness, never opened her eyes again? Alas, the Holy
Virgin had sent it as a punishment.
The terrified man groaned aloud. Oh, God, he hadn't wanted to do that,
not that! She should continue to sleep upstairs, he wouldn't say a word
more about it, he would hide his own wishes deep down in his breast.
Never again would he pollute her ears with such things, although he
really couldn't understand [Pg 128] in what way he had wounded her
innocence to such a degree that she had fainted. Oh, he was a fool, he
didn't understand any more what was going on in his own house. He
remained sitting some time in silence, with his head buried in his
hands. And then when the child began to stir and he heard her sigh and
say in a feeble voice, "Ah, mammie," he got up hastily, took down his
hat and coat from the rack and staggered out of the house.
He remained standing for a long time in the middle of the yard with his
eyes fixed on the house. Wouldn't Rosa ask for him? Wouldn't she beg
him to come to her?
But as nobody called him, and the light downstairs began to move about,
then disappeared and finally shone in the little room upstairs--they
were taking Rosa up to bed--he walked out of his gate with bent head.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
"He has really gone out," whispered Mrs. Tiralla, when she came back to
the sitting-room. She had sat a long time with Mr. Böhnke at the
child's bedside. Rosa had been very excited. When she had recovered
from her faint she had wept bitterly and had wanted to see her father.
He had gone out, they told her, his conscience had left him no peace.
After that the child had wept for a long time. Then she had been so
worn out that she had dozed a little, but it had been no peaceful
slumber, although her mother had held one of her hands and the
schoolmaster the other. She had given several loud, terrified shrieks,
her brows had contracted with pain. And then she had begun to talk in
her sleep, a confused medley of words.
"I suppose she's delirious?" said the schoolmaster. But the woman had
whispered to him that Rosa was [Pg 129] having her visions again, and
that if he would listen quietly, he would soon make sense out of what
she was saying.
Mrs. Tiralla knelt down by the bedside, and resting her head on her
hands which she had folded round those of the child, she began to pray
in a soft voice.
All the man could see in the twilight had been that bent head, the
silky smoothness of which seemed even silkier than usual in the dim
light from the shaded lamp. He was seized with a mad desire to press
his lips to that bowed neck which was so near him, to thrust both his
hands in that beautiful, black hair. He could scarcely bear it any
longer, his heart throbbed so tumultuously that he trembled. What did
it matter to him that the servant was crouching at the end of the bed
with her face buried in her knees? And the delirious child would be no
hinderance to him either. Who could prevent him from stretching out his
arms and drawing the kneeling woman to his side and closing her mouth
with his kisses? Mr. Tiralla was not there; it was as though he would
never return. And around them was darkness. And still he dared not do
it. This woman--he groaned--ah, this woman could do anything she liked
with him.
"Sh!" Mrs. Tiralla raised her head. "Sh! now, now! Do you hear?"
"Oh, my poor father!" sighed Rosa. It sounded as though she were going
to cry; there was something unspeakably touching in her plaintive
voice. "My poor father, what are they doing to you? You can't escape,
alas, alas!"
The child's low voice shook with fear, and she threw herself about on
the bed with a convulsive movement.
From what couldn't he escape? The schoolmaster [Pg 130] knitted his
brows, her words made a strange impression on him.
But Mrs. Tiralla leant over the bed so that the man could feel her
breath on his cheek, and whispered in his ear, "Sh! be quiet!" Now she
sees him being tormented in hell. She often sees him like that.
"Röschen, my darling," she whispered softly, bending over the child,
"leave that wicked man in hell, don't be frightened. Don't you see the
Holy Virgin this evening, and the dear Child Jesus on her lap? Oh, how
sweetly she's smiling. Hark, doesn't she say something? Hail, Mary----"
"Thou Gracious Mother," the child struck in immediately, and her voice
had lost its note of fear, "thou pure Mother, thou spotless Mother,
thou wonderful Mother. Ah, I see her!" cried Rosa triumphantly, and her
pale face flushed a rosy red. "Mother, Marianna, Mr. Böhnke, pray that
she may not turn away from us. Come, come!" She stretched out her hands
as though she wanted to draw the three people around her bed still
nearer. "Kneel down," she called out in a loud voice. "Oh, thou Lamb of
God that takest away the sins of the world, spare us, good Lord----"
"Hear us, good Lord," droned Marianna. She had dragged herself nearer
the bed, and now she hit her breast and bowed every time as she
repeated, "Spare us, good Lord! Hear us, good Lord! Have pity on us,
good Lord!"
Mrs. Tiralla and the schoolmaster exchanged a glance.
"The spirit has come over her," whispered the woman, and made the sign
of the cross. "She will soon reveal a great deal to us."
The schoolmaster hastily pulled out his notebook [Pg 131] with
trembling hands. He felt somewhat embarrassed and whispered uneasily,
"Marvellous, very marvellous!" He would have given much to be away from
it all, but he couldn't go, it was too wonderful. He would have to
write it all down so as to repeat it to the priest. What would he say
to having a clairvoyante among his congregation? Holy Mother, only not
that!
A sudden terror gripped him. He felt cold and hot by turns, and
his hands trembled as he held the book and pencil. If she really
could see into the future? Pshaw, she was nothing but a sickly,
romantic, delirious child. And still--he could not help shuddering
in the semi-darkness of that lonely little room, near the woman he
coveted--and still his excited fancy at once gave shape to what Rosa's
dreamy babbling had stirred up within him. The child was enraptured
with the dear Virgin who smiles at the innocent, but he adorned her
with all the voluptuous charms which she--his eyes glittered as they
hung on the woman he coveted--she possessed.
It was midnight before Mrs. Tiralla and the schoolmaster returned to
the sitting-room. The favoured child was sleeping soundly, there were
no more marvellous utterances to listen to. The trance was now over,
which had filled them all with such delight and during which Marianna
had buried her face in her hands and groaned:
"How beautiful, how beautiful! I don't understand it; but oh, how
beautiful!"
But the man was still in a state of great excitement. What else was
there for him to do, now that Mr. Tiralla had really gone away, but
clasp this smiling woman, whose eyes shone like candles, to his breast?
He approached her full of fierce desire. Now that [Pg 132] the so
ardently longed-for moment had arrived all the scruples which had
hitherto deterred him had disappeared. Now, now!
He went up to her with outstretched arms, but she escaped from him as
she so often had escaped from her husband, and ran behind the table.
This was now between him and her. Her husband had always tried to catch
her on these occasions, and had run after her round the big table like
a boy playing at tig, but the schoolmaster did not do that. He did not
move; he had suddenly grown very pale and his outstretched arms had
sunk down. So she didn't want him to? It was a very keen
disappointment.
What on earth was the schoolmaster dreaming of? Mrs. Tiralla almost
flew into a passion. But then she noticed how dejected he looked, how
his eyes avoided hers, and a sudden fear befell her. What if he were to
be so angry with her now that he turned away from her, and she were to
be as lonely as she had been before? Oh, only not that, she must have
one helping hand. Wasn't he the helper, the friend whom the Holy Virgin
had sent her? She daren't let him go away like that, she would have to
grant him one favour, but only one. And she came from behind her
bulwark; she had no fear, for she felt that she had this man entirely
in her power. She went up to him, put her arms round his neck and
kissed him quickly on the cheek.
"Go now," she whispered, "go! It's late--midnight--what will Marianna
think? I shouldn't like people to talk about me. Go!"
She urged him to be gone and he obeyed her, for he had got a kiss, a
kiss from her. He thirsted for another one, but wasn't this a
beginning?
When Marianna lighted him to the road, he embraced [Pg 133] her with
such force that she let the lantern fall, she was so startled.
The sober man was quite changed. He stumbled across the fields as
though he were intoxicated, and everything seemed to swim before his
eyes. Starydwór lay behind him, Starydwór lay in front of him,
Starydwór lay to the right, Starydwór lay to the left. Starydwór was
everywhere.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The schoolmaster seemed almost as intoxicated as Mr. Tiralla was, as he
crossed the fields on his way home from the village some hours later.
But he did not see Starydwór everywhere, as the other man had done, for
it was quite impossible for him to find his own farm. It was as though
it had disappeared from the globe, or as though he had nothing more to
do there.
It happened now and then that Mr. Tiralla indulged in too much
drink--now and then on special occasions such as the Sokol's
entertainment, or lately the Gradewitz ball--who wouldn't have done
that? But as a rule Mr. Tiralla was what you might call a sober man.
The fact was that he could stand a great deal. But this evening he had
drunk nothing but gin. He had felt so sad, oh, so sad; he didn't know
himself why he had felt so sad. He had known for a long time that his
Sophia was very irritable, so that couldn't have caused it; he had also
known that his Rosa was a very pious child; really too pious, a
remarkably pious child. But to-day there was something else, something
that weighed him down to such a degree, that it had almost broken his
heart. He had to drink in order to get rid of the weight that was
oppressing him; drink until he was intoxicated. And he could only
arrive at that state with the help of gin.
[Pg 134]
The acquaintances he had met at the inn had been very much surprised at
his behaviour. Mr. Tiralla was so quiet; he didn't brag at all about
his Sophia. It was as though he had been put to silence. The priest had
said a few kind words to him about his daughter, when he came to the
inn for a short time after his supper; she was an excellent child, a
pure soul with whom God was well pleased. But Mr. Tiralla had only
smiled feebly.
He had sat staring into his glass with both elbows on the table, and
his red head buried in his hands, without saying a word. He had sat
like that for hours.
One man after the other had said good night, first the priest, then the
gendarme, then the forester, then Mr. Schmielke. Jokisch, as a good
neighbour, had stopped the longest with Mr. Tiralla. He had plucked at
his sleeve when the others had departed and had said in a confidential
tone, "Listen, old fellow, I must tell you that the others are saying
that Böhnke, the schoolmaster, comes too often to see you--I mean to
see your wife."
"He's been to see her this evening," said Mr. Tiralla, in a calm voice.
And when the other man had stared at him in a disconcerted kind of way,
he had continued in a voice that was still calmer, "You envious
scoundrel, _psia krew!_ Don't you know my Sophia? Do you think it's
that what's oppressing me? Not that, oh God, not that!"
And he had given a loud sigh, and burying his head once more in his
hands had said no more. Then Jokisch had said good night. They could
very well have gone home together--their roads only parted at the
Bo[^z]a m[,e]ka[A] just before you come to the Przykop [Pg 135]--but
Mr. Tiralla's company wasn't amusing enough. By Jove, the old man
seemed quite stupid.
[Footnote A: The wayside image of a saint.]
Mr. Tiralla had remained sitting all alone. The landlord would have
liked to extinguish the lights and go to bed; his wife, servant, and
children had been asleep for a long time, everybody was asleep except
Mr. Tiralla, who did not seem to think of going to bed. At last the
landlord had fallen asleep behind the bar, and was only awakened by a
dull sound. Mr. Tiralla had thrown the big, empty gin bottle at him,
after helping himself to the very last drop.
Was Mr. Tiralla going home alone? How would Mr. Tiralla get home? The
landlord was very anxious about him.
It was a night in early spring as Mr. Tiralla staggered home. A long
time would elapse before the lilac-bushes near the dilapidated railings
in the weed-grown herb garden would bloom; there was still no sign of
buds on the trees, the plain was still bare and wintry-looking. But
something was already moving deep down in the earth. The furrows,
through which Mr. Tiralla tramped as he crossed the fields, were
thawed, and lumps of soft earth clung to his boot-soles. He had lost
his way; he could not get any further.
"_Psia krew!_" He stumbled, cursed, and scolded, and then he laughed.
He felt that he had drunk too much--oho, he would never be so drunk
that he couldn't feel what he had been up to. But to be a little drunk
was a very useful thing now and then. For then you didn't feel the
oppression quite so much.
[Pg 136]