II

The ladies did actually arrive at Jastrzeb the next day about noon,

followed immediately afterwards by Dolhanski, who did not, however, see

them on the road, because at the station he became occupied entirely

with the receipt of the baggage and therefore arrived in a separate

conveyance. The guests did not find Krzycki at home. As the burden of

the funeral, and all cares connected with it, fell upon him, he left an

hour earlier for Rzeslewo. The obsequies were to take place at three

o'clock. Ladislaus' mother arrived at the Rzeslewo church with Pani

Otocka, Panna Marynia, and their friend Miss Anney. In the second

carriage Gronski and Dolhanski came, while the third and last one

brought the younger members of the Krzycki family,--eleven-year-old

Anusia and Stas, who was a year younger, together with their French

instructress and the tutor, Laskowicz. Pani Krzycki reminded her son of

his feminine relatives and introduced him to Miss Anney, but he barely

had time to bow and cast a glance at her when he was summoned away on

some matter relating to the final funeral arrangements. Alighting from

the carriage, the ladies could scarcely press their way into the

church, although an effort was made to clear a path for them, for in

the church and adjacent enclosure an unusual throng held sway. The

greater landed gentry were represented in extremely scant numbers, as

the deceased Zarnowski did not associate with any one, and besides

Jastrzeb, Gorek, and Wiatrak, did not visit any of the manors in the

neighborhood. In their place, the Rzeslewo peasantry appeared as one

man, with their wives and children. The reason for this was that from

some unknown source and for some inexplicable reason, a rumor

circulated among them that the deceased had bequeathed to them his

entire fortune. Quite a number stood outside the church fence, and

their loud voices and anxious faces indicated the impression which the

rumor of the bequest had made upon them.

After chanted vigils and a sufficiently long mass, white surpliced

priests, preceded by a cross, appeared at the church doorway. After

them the coffin was borne. The hearse stood ready to receive the

remains, but peasants, in implicit faith of the bequest, lifted it upon

their shoulders to carry to the cemetery, which was a verst distant and

in which was located the tomb of the Zarnowskis. Gronski gave his arm

to Pani Krzycki, Dolhanski to Pani Otocka, while the duty of escorting

the light-haired Miss Anney fell to Krzycki. After an interval, the

funeral cortege slowly proceeded in the direction of the cemetery.

From under the shade of church lindens it soon advanced upon the

field-road, flooded with sunshine, and extended itself in a long line.

At the head went the priests; after them the coffin, swung high up on

the shoulders of the peasants; the relatives and guests followed, and

after them came swarms of gay peasant national dresses and feminine

handkerchiefs gaudily spotted with yellow and red colors, which

glaringly contrasted with the green, sprouting spring corn. Church

flags, with skulls and pictures of saints, floated heavily in the

golden air and at times heaved with a flap when assailed by the wind.

In this manner, glistening in the sun, the crowd approached the poplars

which shaded the cemetery. From time to time the chant of priests

resounded, breaking out suddenly and with great sadness. Nearer the

cemetery the peasants commenced the litany and gusts of wind seized

these Polish and Latin songs and carried them with the odor of candles,

which were continually blown out, and the scent of the drippings of the

torches to the forests.

Krzycki, who escorted Miss Anney, observed that her hand, which rested

upon his arm, trembled considerably. It occurred to him that she

probably had tired it, holding her parasol on the road from Jastrzeb to

Rzeslewo, and he paid no more attention to it. In the conviction that

such a solemnity as a funeral exempted him from starting the usual

social conversation, he walked in silence. He was fatigued and hungry.

Disordered thoughts rushed into his head. He thought of his uncle,

Zarnowski, of his inability to mourn for him, of the funeral, of his

newly-arrived cousins, and of yesterday's conversation with Gronski.

At times he would gaze, abstractedly, at the near by fields and

half-consciously would note that the winter-corn on the fertile

Rzeslewo soil, as well as the spring grain, gave promise of a bountiful

harvest. After a certain time he recollected that it would be proper

for him to devote a little more attention to his companion.

Somehow, after a few stealthy glances, his curiosity, which thus far

had been deadened by fatigue, hunger, and ill-humor, was awakened. The

proximity of a woman, young and, as he observed, stately, began to

affect him. It seemed strange to him in the first place that he was

conducting over the Rzeslewo highway an Englishwoman, who came, the

Lord knew from where; that a short while before he was unacquainted

with her and at present felt the warmth of her arm and hand. He

observed also that her hand, tightly incased in a glove, though

shapely, was not at all small; and he thought that the reasons for this

were the English sports--tennis, rowing, archery, and the like. "Our

Polish women," he thought, "look differently." Under the influence of

these reflections upon English sports, it seemed to him that from this

quaintly attired form some peculiar power, healthiness, and energy

emanated. His companion began to interest him more and more. Leading

her on his arm, he could see only her profile, upon which he bestowed

increased attention. As a consequence of more exact observation, his

curiosity intensified. In the first moments he conceded only that she

was a comely and buxom person, but later he soliloquized in this

fashion: "How vastly more stately and, sincerely speaking, more

beautiful she is than Pani Otocka or that child, whose dresses reach to

her ankles and whose soul, as Gronski says, is in the violin!" But

this, however, was not the strict truth, for Pani Otocka, a slender

brunette with the expression of a blonde, was of a type more exquisite

and racial, and the "child" had a countenance simply angelic. But at

that particular moment, if a secret ballot had been taken upon this

question, Krzycki, owing perhaps to his opposition to his mother's

designs, would have cast his vote for Miss Anney.

After a certain time, it seemed to him that Miss Anney also was casting

stealthy glances at him. He determined to catch her in the act and

looked at her more openly. And then he saw something which astonished

him in the highest degree. On the cheeks of the young Englishwoman tear

after tear coursed. Her lips were compressed as if she desired to

stifle her impressions and her hand, supported on his arm, did not

cease to tremble.

"Either this is affected sensibility," Krzycki thought, "or else her

English nerves are jangled. Why the deuce should she weep over a man

whom she never saw in her life? Unless it reminded her of her father's

burial or that of some near relative?"

Miss Anney did not look at all like a person with jangled nerves.

Somehow, after a time, her emotion passed. She began to gaze with

particular interest and attention upon the throng of people, the

neighborhood, the fields, and the distant fringe of the forest as if

she desired to retain them all permanently in her memory.

"She should have taken a kodak with her," thought Ladislaus.

They were already not far from the cemetery gates. But in the meanwhile

a wind stronger than the former gusts broke loose. It swept suddenly

across the field of sprouting grain, raised a cloud of dust on the

highway, snuffed out the mendicant candles which were not extinguished

before, and entwined Krzycki's neck with Miss Anney's long boa.

She relinquished his arm and, freeing him from his ties, said in Polish

with an almost imperceptible foreign accent:

"I beg your pardon. The wind--"

"That is nothing," answered Ladislaus. "Perhaps you would prefer to

take a carriage, for the squalls are breaking out more frequently."

"No, thank you," she replied; "I believe we are near the cemetery. I

will walk alone, because I must hold my boa and dress."

During this conversation they stood opposite each other for a moment

and, although that moment was brief, Ladislaus made a new discovery.

Not only did he confirm his previous opinion that Miss Anney was, in

reality, very beautiful and had an extraordinarily transparent

complexion, set off with light hair, but above all else that her blue

eyes did not radiate with two separate beams, but rather with a single,

gentle, blue, slightly misty, soulful light. He was unable to explain

to himself in what lay the distinct and peculiar charm of that look,

but he felt it perfectly.

In the meantime, they reached the cemetery. A short prayer detained all

at the gates, after which the funeral cortege moved between the

poplars, swung by the winds, and crosses overgrown by luxuriant grass

on the mounds, under which slept the Rzeslewo peasantry. The Zarnowski

tomb stood in the centre. In its front walls could be seen an opening,

knocked out for the reception of a new member of the family. At the

side there were two masons, with whitened aprons, having at their feet

prepared cement and a pile of new bricks. The coffin was placed upon

the sand near the opening and the priests began a long chant over it.

Their voices rose and then fell, like waves, in a rolling and dreamy

rhythm, which was accompanied by the roar of the poplars, the flapping

of the flags in the air, and the hum of prayers uttered, as if

mechanically, by the peasants. Then the parish-priest of Rzeslewo began

a discourse. As he did not live on good terms with the deceased, he

commended his soul to the divine mercy rather than praised him. About

could be seen the faces of the Zarnowski relatives, grave and

appropriately grouped for the occasion, but no grief, not a tear. They

were rather indifferent, with an expression of expectancy, and even

tedium. The coffin appeared to be only awaiting the close of the rites,

as if it was anxious to enter that vault and darkness, for which it was

appropriately designed. In the meantime, after the sermon, songs began

to ring. At moments they subsided, and then could be heard only the

revelry of wind among the poplars. At last a high voice, as if

startled, intoned "requiem aeternam" and fell suddenly like a pillar of

dust twirled by the storm; and after a momentary silence "eternal

repose," full of solace, resounded and the ceremony was over.

On the coffin they threw a few handfulls of sand, and then pushed it

into the opening which the masons began to wall up, laying brick upon

brick and coating them with mortar. The barrier, which was to forever

separate Zarnowski from the world and light, grew with each moment.

Groups of peasants slowly left the cemetery. Two female neighbors from

Gorek, a Pani Wlocek, an old and pathetic dame, and her daughter, who

was not young, approached Pani Krzycki and felt it incumbent upon them

to offer a "few words of consolation," which nobody expected and which

were absolutely unnecessary. Gronski began to converse with Ladislaus:

"Observe," he quietly said, looking at the work of the masons, "yet a

few more bricks and then, as Dante says, 'Aeterna silenza.' No sorrow,

not a tear; no one will ever come here expressly for him. Something

similar awaits me, and you remember that thus they bury old bachelors.

Your mother is quite right in wanting to have you married."

"To tell the truth," answered Krzycki, "the deceased was not only an

old bachelor, but also was unsocial. But finally, is it not all the

same?"

"After death, certainly. But during life, when you think of it, it is

not at all the same. This 'lust for posthumous grief' may be illogical

and foolish, but nevertheless it exists."

"Whence does it come?"

"From an equally unwise desire to outlive self. Look, the work is

finished and Zarnowski is sealed up. Let us go."

At the gates the rattle of the approaching carriages was heard. The

party moved towards the exit. The ladies now were in the lead; after

them the priests and guests walked, with the exception of Dolhanski,

who was talking to the Englishwoman.

Suddenly Ladislaus turned to Gronski and asked:

"What is Miss Anney's Christian name?"

"While we are in the cemetery you might have thought of something else.

Her Christian name is Agnes."

"A beautiful name."

"In England it is quite common."

"Is she rich?"

"And that question you could defer to another time, but if you are in a

hurry, ask Dolhanski. He knows those things best."

"I ask you because I see him with her and hear him chattering in

English."

"Oh, that is a play within a play! He is after Pani Otocka."

"Ah!"

"Equally as old as it is fruitless. For it is yet difficult to

ascertain with any exactness how much Miss Anney possesses, while the

amount which the late Director Otocki left his wife is perfectly

known."

"I have a hope that my beautiful cousin will give him the mitten."

"Which would increase a beautiful collection. But tell me, what do you

think of your cousins?"

"Certainly--Pani Otocka--certainly--both have what the Galicians call

'something ennobling.' But Panna Marynia is still quite a child."

Gronski directed his eyes at the slim and slender figure walking before

them and said:

"That is a child who could as well fly in the air as walk on earth."

"An aeroplane or what?"

"I warn you that she is the object of my highest adoration."

"So I have heard. It is already known to all men."

"Only they do not know that that adoration is not of a red color, but

heavenly blue."

"I do not understand that very well."

"When you are better acquainted with her you will understand me."

Krzycki, who was more interested in Miss Anney, wanted to turn the

conversation to her, but they passed the gates, before which the horses

waited. The young man proceeded to assist the ladies to their seats, in

which operation he saw directed towards himself for a moment the

soulful eyes of the Englishwoman. Preparatory to her departure, his

mother asked him whether he had finished his duties connected with the

funeral and whether he would return immediately to Jastrzeb.

"No," he answered; "I have made an arrangement with the parish-priest

that he should permit me to invite the priests to the rectory, and I

must entertain them there. But as soon as I greet them and eat

something, I will excuse myself to the guests and return as soon as

possible."

Here he bowed to the ladies, after which he removed his hands from the

carriage, cast a glance at the chestnut thill-horse to see if he did

not overreach, and shouted:

"Go ahead!"

The carriage trundled over the road on which the funeral cortege had

passed. Of the participants who were dressed in surtouts, besides

Ladislaus, only Dolhanski remained. He felt that, as a relative of the

deceased, it was also his duty to entertain the priests who officiated

at the obsequies; and besides, he had other reasons which induced him

to remain in Ladislaus' company.

They had barely settled in the britzska, when he began to look around

among the peasants, who still stood here and there in groups, and then

asked:

"Where is the notary Dzwonkowski?"

Ladislaus smiled and replied:

"He rode ahead with the priests, but to-night you will see him at

Jastrzeb, for he invited himself there."

"So; then I regret that I did not return with the ladies. I wanted to

wring from him some information regarding the will, and I thought that

later that might not be possible."

"Patience. The notary told me that the will is to be opened the day

after to-morrow in his office and that we will have to drive over there

for that purpose."

"But I wished to know to-day whether it will be worth while for me to

wait until to-morrow or the day after. If this precious uncle of ours

has let us drift, as the saying is, upon a swift current of water, then

Pani Wlocka was right in offering us words of consolation. I, at least,

will need them for a long time."

"How can you talk that way?"

"I am saying aloud what you all secretly think. I am very anxious about

that will. I care more for Dzwonkowski at the present moment than for

the entire terrestial globe together with the five parts of the world;

and more particularly since I have seen that he brought a bundle of

papers with him."

"As to that you may rest at ease. He is the greatest musico-maniac that

I have ever met. He worships Panna Marynia, with whom he became

acquainted at Krynica. From Gronski I have learnt that in the moonlight

sonata, in the Benois arrangement for the violin, he arranged the notes

for the flute and sent them to her in Warsaw. Today he wants to see how

they will go. Therefore he invited himself to Jastrzeb, and he brought

with him, besides the sonata, a bundle of other notes. I assure you

that he will not want to talk or speak of anything else."

"In that case, may the devils carry off Dzwonkowski's flute, Panna

Marynia's violin, your Jastrzeb piano, and music in general."

On this Ladislaus looked at him spitefully and said:

"Be careful about our Jastrzeb piano, because if you hear a trio

to-night, you will find Pani Otocka at the piano."

"I have a hope that it will be, at least, as much out of tune as I am

at present and, in that case, I will not envy either her or the

auditors. But I see that Gronski has filled you with idle gossip.

Good! Unlike him, I do not have an old bachelor's hankering after

boarding-house misses and I like young teals only on a platter. Let him

feast his eyes with his Marynia; let him pray to her, but let him leave

me alone. They all have gone crazy on music there, and are ready to

infect you in Jastrzeb. Only Miss Anney does not play on anything, and

has a little sense."

"Ah, Miss Anney does not play on anything?"

"Yes. But that does not prevent her from playing, in a certain case,

upon me or on you, but much more easily upon you than me."

"Why more easily upon me?"

"Because I am that particular kind of instrument that wants to know in

advance how much the concert will bring."

Ladislaus, accustomed of old to Dolhanski's cynicism, shrugged his

shoulders, but did not have time to reply as they had in the meantime

arrived at the rectory.