XIII

"Here is the answer which I finally received," said Ladislaus, handing

a letter to Gronski; "I could not expect anything else."

"I knew that you would receive it," replied Gronski, blinking with his

ailing eyes and searching for his binocle, "I was already informed of

it by Pani Otocka, who from the beginning insisted that Miss Anney

ought to answer you, and in the end prevailed upon her."

Ladislaus reddened and asked:

"Ah! So Zosia Otocka knows everything."

"She does and does not know. Miss Anney told her only this much; 'He

did not forget that he is a young lord and I a peasant woman and we

ceased to understand each other.' For her it was yet harder to speak of

this than for you and that difficulty festers all the more the wound

which, without it, is deep enough--But I cannot find the binocle."

"Here it is," said Ladislaus.

Gronski placed it on his nose and began to read:

"You, yourself, sir, rent and trampled upon our joy, our happiness, my

trust, and that deep attachment which I had for you. To your query of

whether I can ever recover those feelings, I answer that I seek for

them in vain. If ever I recover them I will inform you with the same

sincerity with which I to-day say that I have in my heart only grief

and sadness which for a joint life will not suffice."

"Only so much!" said Ladislaus.

"My foresight," answered Gronski, "is verified only too perfectly. The

spring for the time being has dried up."

"To the bottom, to the bottom, not a drop for refreshment."

Gronski remained silent for a while; after which he said:

"I think otherwise, nevertheless. This is not entirely hopeless. There

remains sadness, grief and, as it were, the anticipation of the

recurring swell. In reality, it will not flow to-day nor to-morrow.--In

view of this, for you there remains either to persevere patiently and

win anew that which you lost, or else, if you have not sufficient

strength, to take some shears and sever the remaining threads."

"Such shears I will not find. Do you remember, sir, what she did for me

when I was wounded? I will not forget that."

At this Gronski shaded his eyes with his hand, gazed at Ladislaus

intently and asked:

"My dear sir, did you ever propound to yourself one question?"

"What one?"

"What pains you the more,--the loss of Miss Anney or your wounded

self-love?"

"I thank you, sir," answered Ladislaus, with irony. "In reality, only

self-love. Through it, I do not sleep, do not eat; through it, in the

course of a few days, I have grown lean like a shaving and were it not

for this living wound, life for me would be one perpetual round of

pleasure."

And he began to laugh bitterly, while Gronski continued to gaze at him,

not removing his hand from his ailing eyes, and thought:

"That girl has an honest heart, and let her only see him; then she will

forgive everything through compassion alone."

After which he said:

"Listen, after a quarter of an hour, I will put on those dark

spectacles and go to the rehearsal. Come with me."

"How will that help me, now?" exclaimed Ladislaus.

"I do not know. I do not even guarantee that we will meet Miss Anney,

for Marynia sometimes goes with a servant. But, in any event, you will

not lose anything by it; so come."

But further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the doctor,

the more unexpected, as he had announced, upon leaving Warsaw, that he

would stay with his brother at least ten days.

"How is this? You have already returned!" exclaimed Gronski.

"A surprise, hey?" vociferated the doctor. "Yes! And for me it was a

surprise! One medical visit, afterwards a fee supplemented with the

amiable advice, 'Get out of here, while you are whole!' Lo, here I am.

Oh, what a delightful journey!"

"How did this happen?"

"How did it happen? I will tell you immediately. But no! I know that at

this hour you leave for that rehearsal: so I will go with you,

gentlemen, and relate it to you on the way. That is such an amusing

thing that it is worth while to hear it. Ha!"

Accordingly after a while they went and the jovial doctor began to

recite his Odyssey.

"I arrived," he said, "a little fatigued, for that is a distant

journey, and besides it is necessary to change cars, wait for trains at

the stations, and so forth--the usual order with us. I reached the

country-seat late and after greeting my brother, I went to bed at once.

But the following day I had barely unpacked the primers--you remember,

gentlemen?--those I brought with me for the petty nobility--and I had

barely reproved my 'provincial' brother, when an emergency call came

summoning me to a high official who has an estate adjoining our seat

and in summer resides with his family in the country. Ha! there was no

help for it--I ride! And what appears? Why, a thimble stuck in a

child's throat. I found the child already livid, but the moment I

pulled the thimble out, the infant went away playing and everything was

in the best order. There was nothing else to do. I saved a future

dignitary to the empire, and to the parents an only son, as the

other children were daughters. So the gratitude was immense. They

pay--certainly! I wanted to ride away and iterated that there is

nothing more to do. They would not let me go. Gratitude, breakfast,

cordiality, friendship, overflowing of Slavonic feelings, and a chat

which after a time passed into a political discussion. 'There is not,'

says the dignitary, 'harmony amidst brothers. And what a pity! Religion

and tongue divide their languages. But what is religion, if not only an

outward form? God is one. It is the same to Him whether He is glorified

in the Latin or the Slavonic language. Why, for Slavonians it is more

seemly if in the Slavonic. And as to the tongue, then the various

dialects could be limited to conversations at home. Why, however,

should not one language be adopted, not only officially, but in

literature? The convenience would be greater, the control easier.

Then you would abandon your Catholicism and your dialects and accept

ours--the one and the other,--but heartily and voluntarily. And harmony

would immediately follow. The times for you would be better. There

would be downright delight.'--"

"He mistook his man," interrupted Gronski, laughing.

"And that he should chance upon me," replied the doctor. "I, gentlemen,

am a deist, a philosopher, but a passable Catholic. Often it happens

that I assail the church just as I assail Poland whenever anything

occurs which displeases me. Only if some stranger does the same thing

in my presence then--a strange thing!--I have a desire to knock out his

teeth. Therefore I began to defend the Church as if I never in my life

crawled out of a sacristy; bah, even better, in a way as if I was a

Catholic apologist. 'If,' I said, 'religion is only an external form

tell me just why should we abandon this form of ours, which is the most

spiritualized, the most cultural, and the most beautiful. That

Catholicism, with which you advise us to take our leave, has

encompassed the entire West, organized society, produced European

civilization, preserved learning, has founded universities, reared

churches, which are masterpieces, gave us Saint Augustine, Dante,

Petrarch, Saint Francis, and Saint Thomas, created the Renaissance,

created Leonardo da Vinci's; "Lord's Supper," Michelangelo's "Tombs of

the Medici," Raphael's "School of Athens" and "Disputa," erected such

temples as Saint Peter's, not counting others scattered throughout

Italy and all over Europe. That Catholicism made us partakers of the

universal culture, united us with the West, imprinted a European stamp

upon our Polish soul, etc., etc.' And I talked in this strain until he

interrupted me and said. 'In this is the misfortune, that it has united

you with the West.' And I replied to that, 'A misfortune to whom, and

to whom not a misfortune? But now we will speak of your proposition of

renouncing the tongue and therefore the nationality. Know, sir, that

this is an empty and foolish dream. That never will take place. I

proclaim and insist in advance--never! But assuming for a moment an

impossible thing, that a pestilence will so blight us, that our hearts

will be so debilitated that we will say to ourselves "Enough!--we can

no longer be Poles!" then what? Reflect, sir, objectively, like a man

who has not lost the ability to think, what could restrain us from

becoming Germans? Our Slavonic extraction? But we are Slavonians, just

because we are Poles. You are a people who do not know how to live and

do not permit anybody else to live. So what motive would keep us with

you? Is it your peace? Your welfare? Your morality? Your

administration? Your science? Your learning? Your wealth? Your power?

Learn to look in the eyes of reality; cultivate in yourselves the

ability to reckon with it, and you will understand that by

denationalizing us you labor for some one else. But I reiterate yet

once more that this is only a foolish dream; that the moment of

renunciation will never come and if I spoke of it, it was only to

answer those things which you suggested.'

"With this our conversation ended. They, in a yet higher degree than

we, cannot endure unpleasant truths, so my dignitary changed into a

decanter of iced water, and on the leave-taking merely said to me:

'Well, you are too candid, young man, but I thank you for the child.' A

half an hour later I was at home."

"I can surmise what happened afterwards," said Gronski.

"Yes. As the thimble was removed, that same night I received an order

to leave the next day by the first train."

"Be satisfied that it ended with that."

"I am satisfied. I will stay a few days in Warsaw; I will see the

notary; I will attend Panna Zbyltowska's concert. Certainly!

Certainly!"

Here he addressed Ladislaus.

"How is your mother and your fiancee?"

"Thank you. Mother is not badly, but will soon have to leave."

And desiring to hide his confusion, he began to gaze intently into the

depths of the street, and after a while exclaimed:

"But look! I see Panna Marynia with a maid-servant, and with them some

third person is walking."

In reality about a hundred paces down the street Marynia could be seen

approaching, accompanied by a maidservant, with the violin in a case.

On the other side, though somewhat behind, walked a young man with a

yellowish beard, who, leaning towards Marynia, appeared to speak to her

in an earnest and vehement manner. She hastened her steps, turning her

head aside, evidently not desiring to listen to him, while he, keeping

pace with her, gesticulated violently.

"My God! Some one is molesting her!" said the doctor.

And all three rushed at full speed towards her.

"Who is that? Who are you, sir?"

And Marynia, seeing Gronski, seized his arm and trembling all over,

began to cry:

"Home! Take me home, sir!"

Gronski understood in a moment that nothing else could be done and that

it was necessary to hurry, as otherwise Marynia might be embroiled in a

vulgar street row. He was certain that Ladislaus in whom was

accumulated an enormous supply of spleen and irritation, with his

impulsive nature, would not permit the offence of the assailant to pass

unpunished. So taking the girl aside, he placed her as soon as possible

in a hackney-coach, which was passing by and ordered the coachman to

drive to Pani Otocka's house.

"There is nothing now. Everything is all right," he said on the way, to

pacify the affrighted Marynia. "From home we will send a message that

there will be no rehearsal to-day, and with that it will end. It is

nothing, nothing."

And he began to press her hand; after a while, he asked:

"But who was that and what did he want?"

"Pan Laskowicz," answered Marynia. "I did not recognize him at first,

but he told me who he was."

Gronski became distressed when he heard the name of the student, for it

occurred to him that if the encounter with Ladislaus ended with the

police, then the consequences for Laskowicz might prove fatal directly.

But not desiring to betray his uneasiness before Marynia, and at the

same time wishing to better quiet her, he spoke to her half jokingly:

"So that was Laskowicz? Then I already know what he wanted. Ah!

Ah!--Some one begins to play not only on the violin but on the

soul.--Only why did you allow yourself to be so frightened?"

"For he also threatened," answered Marynia. "He threatened all

terribly--"

"Such bugbears only children fear."

"True! Especially as I am to play for the hungry; they will not do any

wrong to me or any of us."

"Assuredly not," confirmed Gronski.

Conversing thus, they reached home. Gronski surrendered Marynia to Pani

Otocka's care and when, after a moment, Hanka appeared, he related to

them everything which had occurred. He likewise had to quiet Pani

Otocka, who, knowing of the letters, took the whole occurrence very

much to heart and announced that immediately after the concert they

would leave for Zalesin, and afterwards go abroad. After the lapse of a

half hour he left and on the stairs met Ladislaus.

"God be praised," he said, "I see that it did not end with the police.

Do you know that the man was Laskowicz?"

"And it seemed so to me," said Ladislaus with animation; "but this one

had light hair. How is Marynia?"

"She was frightened a little but now is well. Both ladies are at her

side and dandle her like a little chicken. They are so occupied with

her that Pani Otocka certainly will not receive you."

"And I thought so; especially, if she is there," answered Ladislaus,

with bitterness; "so I will only leave my card and will return at once.

Do you care to wait for me?"

"Very well."

Accordingly, he returned after a while, and when they were on the

street, he began to say:

"Yes! and to me it seemed that he was Laskowicz but I was puzzled by

the light tuft of hair on his head and the spectacles. After all there

was no time for thinking."

"Listen--you undoubtedly cudgelled him?" asked Gronski.

And Ladislaus answered reluctantly:

"Far too much, for he is an emaciated creature, and he evidently did

not have a revolver."

For some time they walked in silence; after which Gronski said:

"Your mother needs a cure; the ladies will depart from here immediately

after the concert and Miss Anney undoubtedly with them. I would advise

you also to think about yourself."

Ladislaus waved his hand.

At the same time in a garret in the quarters of the "female associate,"

Laskowicz said to Pauly:

"Pan Krzycki is a true gentleman. He battered me a while ago because I

dared to approach her."

And he began to laugh through his set teeth.