Meanwhile Augustinovich went to live permanently with Yosef. How
different was his former from his present life! Formerly he had had no
warm corner, now Yosef gave him a warm corner; he had had no bed, Yosef
bought him a bed; he had had no blanket, Yosef bought him a blanket; he
had had no clothes, Yosef got clothes for him; he had been without food,
Yosef divided his own dinner with him. He found himself in conditions
entirely different. Warmed, nourished, in a decent overcoat, combed,
washed, shaved, he became a different man altogether. He was, as we have
said, a person with a character unparalleled for weakness; conditions of
life always created him, he was merely the resultant of forces. So under
Yosef's strong hand he changed beyond recognition. He began to enjoy
order and plenty, abundance in life. As he had not been ashamed before
of anything, so now he began to be ashamed of everything which did not
accord with elegant clothing and gloves. The most difficult thing was to
disaccustom himself from drinking; but he had no chance to resume his
former vice, for Yosef, who guarded him as the eye in his head, did not
let him out of sight; he bought vodka for him, but did not let him have
money. It would be difficult to describe the impatience with which
Augustinovich waited for the moment when Yosef opened the cupboard to
pour him a glass. How much he dreamed in that moment, how he represented
the taste of the drink to himself, the putting of it to his lips, the
touch of it on his tongue, the swallowing through his throat, and
finally the solemn entrance of it into his stomach!
But Yosef, to deprive this treat of its humiliating character, drank to
him usually.
In the course of time he treated him better; he began to associate him
with various affairs of his own and the University, and finally with his
own way of thinking. There is no need of saying that Augustinovich took
all this to himself, that he repeated Yosef's words where he could
preface them usually with, "I judge that, etc." Who would have
recognized him? He, for whom nothing had been too cynical, said now in
student gatherings when the conversation took too free a turn,
"Gentlemen, above all, decency." The students laughed; Yosef himself
smiled in silence, but so far he was content with his own work.
We need not add that Yosef attending the same faculty with Augustinovich
studied with him evenings. He had then the opportunity of estimating his
capabilities to the full. For that mind there was no such thing as more
difficult or easier; a certain wild intuition took the place of thought
and deliberation. His memory, not so retentive as it was capacious, took
the place of labor.
Vasilkevich was a frequent visitor of theirs. At first he came with
Karvovski, then he came alone daily at his own hour. His conversations
with Yosef, circling about the most important questions of life and
science, became more confidential. Those two men felt each other, and
each divined in the other a powerful mind and will. A relation founded
on mutual esteem seemed to herald a permanent future.
Both seized in their hands the direction of youth in the University;
the initiative of general activities started only with them, and since
they agreed there was agreement in the University; comradeship and
science gained most by that friendship.
"Tell me," inquired Yosef on a time, "what do they say of my action with
Augustinovich?"
"Some pay thee homage," answered Vasilkevich; "others laugh. I visited
one of thy opponents on behalf of our library; I found there no small
crowd, and they were just speaking of thee and Augustinovich. But dost
thou know who defended thee most warmly?"
"Well, who was it?"
"Guess."
"Lolo Karvovski."
"No, not he."
"As God lives, I cannot imagine."
"Gustav."
"Gustav?"
"Ah, he told those who were laughing at thee so many agreeable
facts--they will not forget them soon, I guarantee that. Thou knowest
how well he can do such things. I thought that the deuce would take
them."
"I should not have expected this of Gustav."
"I had not seen him for a long time. Oh, he has sunk in that wretched
love to the ears. But he is a strong fellow--and I am sorry for him.
Tell me, thou art more skilled in this than I am: is he very sick?"
"Oh, he is not well."
"What is it? asthma?"
Yosef nodded. "Excessive work, grief."
"Too bad."
All at once steps were heard on the stairs, the door opened, Gustav
walked in.
He was changed beyond recognition. The skin on his face had become
wonderfully white, it had grown transparent. From his face came a
certain coldness, as from a corpse; a yellowish shade shone from his
forehead, which seemed to be of wax. His lips were white; his hair,
beard, and mustache looked almost black as compared with that pallor. He
was like a man who had passed through a long illness, and on his face
had settled certainty concerning himself and a kind of despairing
resignation.
Yosef, a little astonished, a little confused, did not know perhaps how
to begin. Gustav brought him out of the trouble.
"I have come to thee with a prayer," said he. "Once thou didst promise
not to visit the widow; withdraw that promise."
Yosef made a wry face with a kind of constraint. But he only answered,--
"It is not a custom with me to break my word."
"True," answered Gustav, calmly; "but this is something entirely
different. If I were to die, for example, the promise would not bind
thee, and I, as thou seest, am sick, very grievously sick. Meanwhile she
needs protection. I cannot protect her now, I cannot watch over her. I
must lie down to rest, for I am wearied somewhat. For that matter, I
will tell the whole truth to thee. She loves thee, and beyond doubt thou
lovest her also. I have stood in thy way and hers, but now I withdraw. I
do so perforce, and I shall not represent this as a sacrifice. I loved
her much, and I had a little hope that she would love me some day; but I
was mistaken." Here his voice fell an octave lower. "No one has ever
loved me. It has been very gloomy for me in life--But what is to be
done? Of late I have passed through much, but now that is over. To-day
my concern is that she be not left alone. Had I been able to decide on a
sacrifice, thou wouldst be her protector to-day. Canst thou do this for
me, Yosef? Thou hast energy, thou art rich, and she, I say, loves thee,
so thou wilt not end as I have. Oh, it has been hard in this world for
me--But never mind. I should not like to do her an injury--I love her
yet. I should not wish her to be alone because of me. At times, seest
thou, it is not proper to refuse people anything. Go, go to her! Thou
and I lived together once, we fought the same trouble, hence thou
shouldst do me this favor; for, I repeat, I am sick and I know not
whether I shall see her or thee again."
A tear gathered in Vasilkevich's eye; he rose and said, turning to
Yosef,--
"Thou shouldst do all that Gustav asks of thee."
"I will go to her, I will protect her," answered Yosef, decidedly. "I
give my word of honor to both of you."
"I thank thee," said Gustav. "Go there now."
A little later he was alone with Vasilkevich. The Lithuanian was silent
for some time, he struggled with his own heart; finally he spoke in a
voice of heartfelt sympathy,--
"Gustav, poor Gustav, how thou must suffer at this moment!"
Gustav made no answer. He drew the air into his mouth with hissing,
gritted his teeth, his face quivered convulsively, and a sudden sobbing
tore his breast, strength left him completely.
* * * * *
Three days later Yosef and Vasilkevich were sitting in Gustav's
lodging. The evening was bright; bundles of moonlight were falling into
the room through the panes. At the bedside of the sick man a candle was
burning. The sick man himself was still conscious. Almost beautiful was
his face, which had grown yellow from suffering, with its lofty
forehead, as it rested on high pillows. One emaciated hand lay on the
blanket, with the other he pressed his bosom.
The light of the candle cast a rosy gleam on that martyr to his own
feelings. The opposite corner of the room was obscure in the shadow.
Gustav was giving an account of how he had cared for Helena. From time
to time he answered, though with difficulty, now to Yosef, now to
Vasilkevich, who, standing at the head of the bed, wiped away the
abundant perspiration which came out on the forehead of the sufferer.
"I wish to forewarn thee," said Gustav. "They send her two thousand
zlotys yearly (about $250), but she needs from five to six thousand. I
earned the rest for her--Push away the candle, and moisten my lips--I
took from my own mouth, I did not sleep enough--Sometimes I did not eat
a meal for two days--Raise me a little, and support me higher, I cannot
speak--There are thirty rubles more for her in that box--It is dark
around me--Let me rest--"
A mouse made a piece of paper rustle in one corner; except that, silence
held the room. Death was coming.
"I should like to finish our work," continued Gustav. "Tell my
associates not to quarrel--Cold is seizing me--I am curious to know if
there be a heaven or a hell. I have never prayed--but, but--"
Vasilkevich inclined toward him and asked in a low voice,--
"Gustav, dost thou believe in immortality?"
The sick man could speak no longer; he nodded in sign of affirmation.
Then low tones of enchanting music seemed to be given forth in that
chamber. Along the rays of the moonlight a legion of angels pushed in
from the sky; the room was filled with them, some with white, others
with golden or colored wings. They came quietly, bent over the bed. The
rustle of their wings was audible.
The spirit of Gustav went away with that low-sounding orchestra.
The funeral took place with great solemnity. The whole University in a
body was present around the coffin. Then they spoke for the first time
of the accurate knowledge, the toil and sacrifices of the deceased. It
appeared from the accounts which Yosef examined that Gustav had earned
about four thousand zlotys ($500) yearly. All of this went to the widow;
he lived himself like a dog. This voluntary but silent heroism made for
him an enduring monument in the hearts of the young men. They discovered
also various labors of the deceased which indicated solid acquirements,
nay, talent. They found his diary, which was a confession in simple and
even blunt words of all the dark side of his life of privation, a kind
of apology for the passionate outbreaks of youth, those imaginary but
still real sufferings, those struggles, those pains, those internal
storms, and conversations held with self. The inner life of enthusiastic
natures was unveiled there in all its dark solemnity. It was a terror to
look into that chaos which is not to be known in every-day life, in that
"so devilishly gilded world," as the poetess calls it.
The memoirs were read at Vasilkevich's rooms; there was even a
proposition to print them, though it was not brought into effect
somehow. But Augustinovich wrote a paper after Gustav's death. Very
eloquently did he describe the man's career. He showed him from years of
childhood, when he was still happy. The charm of the description of
those spring moments of life was so great that it seemed as though the
sun of May had shone upon the writer. Then the picture grew sombre. It
was seen how the deceased had left his native cottage; how the dog, the
old servant, ran after him howling. Then still darker: life hurled him
about, tossed him, rent him. Again a ray shone as if on a cloud. In
rainbow form Pani Helena appeared to him--he stretched his arms toward
that light. "The rest you know," wrote Augustinovich. "Let him sleep
now, and dream of her. The field swallow will sing her name above his
grave. Let him rest in peace. The spark is quenched, the bowl is
broken--that is Gustav."
But it happens usually that people after his death speak much of a man
whom during life they almost buffeted. Let us give peace then to Gustav,
and follow the further fortune of our acquaintances, and especially of
Yosef, the hero of this volume.
With him nothing had changed, but he himself from the time of his first
visit to Pani Helena went about as if in meditation and was silent.
Augustinovich accustomed himself more and more to the new condition.
At the general's the guests danced as before. At the engineer's they
pounded on the piano. The countess sang in the evening. Gustav's room
was occupied by a shoemaker who had two scrofulous descendants and a
wife with a third misery. In the place where thoughts from a noble head
had circled and words of warmth had dropped, were now heard the thread
and the shoemaker's stirrup.
The widow did not hear of Gustav's death immediately; Yosef concealed
it, fearing too violent an impression. Later he was astonished to find
that she received the news with sadness, it is true, but with no sign of
despair. We have much to tell of those new relations; in the succeeding
part we shall pass to them directly.