The day of the concert arrived. On the sofa in the sisters'
dressing-room lay, ready at an early hour, Marynia's evening dress,
white as snow, light as foam, transparent as the mist, and fragrant
with violets which were to form her sole adornment. Previously, Pani
Otocka and Gronski held a long and grave consultation over that dress,
for both craved warmly that their beloved "divinity" should captivate
not only the ears but the eyes. In the meanwhile the "divinity" bustled
about all the rooms, now seizing the violin and repeating the more
difficult passages, now taking the boxes of bon-bons which Gronski had
sent to her; then joking with her sister and predicting fright at her
first public appearance. This fright also possessed Pani Otocka who
consoled herself only with the thought that Marynia indeed would
tremble upon entering on the stage, but from the moment she began to
play would forget everything. She knew also that a warm ovation awaited
the beloved violinist, likewise numerous baskets of flowers, from the
"Committee for aiding the hungry," and from acquaintances.
Notwithstanding their uneasiness both sisters felt a great joy in their
souls, as the concert, owing to the arrivals during the racing season,
promised to be highly successful, and it was already known that the
receipts would be extraordinary. Marynia besides found a cure for her
fright: "When I think," she said to her sister, "that so many eyes will
gaze at me, my heart is in my mouth, but when I recollect that I am not
concerned but only the poor, then I cease to fear. So I will save
myself in this manner: entering upon the stage, I will repeat quietly,
''Tis for the poor! 'tis for the poor!' and everything will come off in
the best possible way!" And when she spoke, her voice quivered with
honest emotion as her young heart felt deeply the woes of the
unfortunate who did not have any bread, and at the same time she felt
proud and happy at the thought that she would be instrumental in their
relief. She even experienced certain pangs of conscience on account of
the new dress and the new satin shoes, as it occurred to her that this
outlay might have been expended for bread.
About noon Hanka came and took both sisters to her apartments for
breakfast. Gronski, who was invited, did not appear, as at that time he
was to meet a few journalists. Marynia took her violin with her with
the intention of playing after the breakfast the first part of the
programme, and in the meanwhile, waiting before they were seated at
table, she began to look out from Hanka's salon through the open window
on the street.
The day was fair and clear. During the night an abundant rain had
fallen which settled the dust, washed the city's stone pavements,
refreshed the grass plots, and laved the leaves on the trees. The air
became fresh and bracing. From the two acacias, growing under the
windows of Hanka's residence, which strewed the walk near them with
petals white as snow, came a sweet scent, strong and intoxicating as if
from a censer. Marynia partly closed her eyes and, moving her delicate
nostrils, sated herself with the perfume with delight, after which she
turned to the depth of the room.
"It smells so sweet," she said.
"It does, little kitten," answered Hanka, interrupting a conversation
with Pani Otocka. "I purposely ordered the window to be opened."
And the acacias not only smelt sweet but seemed to sing, for both were
cumbered by a countless diet of sparrows so that the leaves and flowers
quivered from their chirping.
The maiden watched for some time with delighted eyes the small, nimble
birds; after which her attention was directed to something entirely
different. On the walk before the house, in the middle of the street
and on the sidewalk on the opposite side, there began to gather and
stand clusters of people who, raising their heads, gazed intently at
the windows of Hanka's residence.
Some wretchedly dressed people spoke with the doorkeeper standing at
the gate, evidently questioning him about something. The clusters each
moment became more numerous and, together with the passers-by, who
remained out of curiosity, changed into a mob of several hundred heads.
Marynia jumped back from the window.
"Look," she cried, "what is taking place on the street. Oh! oh! Perhaps
they are the poor coming to thank me in advance? What shall I do if
they come here? what shall I answer? I am not able.--Come, see!"
And saying this, she drew her sister and Hanka to the window. The three
young heads leaned out of the window on to the street, but in that
moment an incomprehensible thing happened. A ragged stripling pulled
out of his pocket a stone and hurled it with all his strength into the
open window. The stone flew over Pani Otocka's head, rebounded on the
opposite wall, and fell with noise upon the floor. Hanka, Marynia, and
Zosia drew back from the window and began to look at each other with
inquiring and startled eyes.
In the meantime on the street resounded savage outcries; the rabble
battered down the gate; on the stairs sounded the stamping of feet,
after which in the twinkling of an eye the doors leading to the room
burst open with a crash, and a mob, composed of Christians and some
Jews, filled the residence.
"Away with the kept mistress! Strike! tear! smash!" howled hoarse
voices.
"For the mercy of God! People, what do you want here?" cried Hanka.
"Away with the kept mistress! away with the kept mistress! through the
window! on to the street!"
In a moment a young man-servant, who rushed to the assistance of the
ladies, was thrown upon the ground and trampled upon. Amidst the
dreadful commotion, which the mob increased more and more, the human
beasts became unfettered. Women with disheveled hair, filthy striplings
with the marks of crime upon their degenerate features, and all manner
of ragamuffins with drunken faces, rushed at the furniture, divans, bed
curtains, and everything which fell into their hands. In the residence
an orgy of destruction prevailed. The rooms were filled with the stench
of sweat and whiskey. The mob became infuriated; it broke, smashed,
stole. On the street, under the windows piles of splintered furniture
were formed. They threw out even the piano. Finally some ruffian, with
a pock-marked visage, seized Marynia's violin and brandished it,
desiring to shatter it on the wall.
But she jumped to its aid and seized his fist with both hands.
"That is mine! that is mine!--I am to play for the poor--"
"Let go!"
"I will not let go!--that is mine!"
"Let go, carrion!"
"That is mine!"
A shot was fired, and, simultaneously, Pani Otocka's scream pierced the
air. Marynia stood for a moment with upraised hands and head inclined
backwards; afterwards she reeled and fell back into Hanka's arms.
The shot and the murder overawed the crowd. The mob became silent, and
after a moment began to scamper away, panic-stricken.