Clara and the Sniatynskis have not arrived. Instead of this, there
came a letter, informing us they would come to-morrow, the weather
permitting. To-day we had a thunder-storm, the like of which they have
not experienced here for a long time. About ten o'clock in the morning
a hot wind rose, which smothered everything in clouds of dust. The
wind fell at times, and then rose again with such fury that it seemed
to lay the trees flat. Our beautiful park was filled with the sound of
crashing branches, and clouds of dust mingled with torn-off leaves and
twigs. The great lime-tree close to the pavilion, where young Latysz
died, was split in two. It was fear-fully close, there was no air, and
the wind seemed to come straight from a heated furnace, and carried
with it a breath of carbon. I, used to the Italian _scirocco_, did not
mind it so much, but Pani Celina suffered greatly, and indirectly,
Aniela. My aunt was in a bad temper about the damage done to the park,
and as usual, vented it on Chwastowski. The peppery old gentleman,
who probably was caned often enough over his Homer, had evidently not
forgotten the Odyssey, nor his ready speech either, for he replied to
my aunt that if he were Æolus he would not serve her as agent, and
bear with her unjust tantrums. My aunt gave way this time, merely
because of the redoubled threats from the skies. It had grown very
still all at once, but from the south, banks of cloud, black as a
funereal pall, overcast with a sickly red sheen, came rolling up. In
a moment it grew as dark as night, and Pani Celina rung for lights.
Shortly afterwards the darkness yielded to an ominous reddish light.
Chwastowski rushed off in a hurry to give orders for the cattle to be
driven home, but the cow-herds had started without waiting for orders,
for presently we heard distinctly the mournful lowing of the cattle.
Then my aunt fetched the bell of Our Lady of Loreto, and went around
the house ringing energetically. I did not even try to explain to her
that ringing a bell in that motionless atmosphere might rather attract
than avert a thunderbolt, and in spite of the consciousness that in
case of danger I could not be of the slightest help, I was ashamed to
let her risk the danger alone. The old lady was simply magnificent
when, with her head thrown back, she seemed to defy the black and
copper-colored banks of clouds, and shook at them her Loreto bell.
I did not regret having gone with her, if only to see a symbolic
picture. At a moment when everything trembles before the approaching
horror, crouches in terror almost stupefied, faith alone has no fear;
it defies, and rings a bell. This is, from whatever side we look at
it, an element of incalculable power in the human soul.
We returned when the first thunder began to growl all around the
horizon. A few minutes later the roar became incessant. I had a
sensation as if the thunder rolled on the lower stratum of the clouds,
and the whole mass would burst at any moment and come with a deafening
crash upon the earth. A thunderbolt fell into the pond at the other
end of the park, followed by another so close by that the house
shook on its foundations. My ladies began to say the Litany; I felt
uncertain what to do; if I joined them it would be hypocrisy on my
part, and if I did not it would look as if I were showing myself off
as an ill-bred wiseacre, who cannot make allowance for country customs
and female terrors. But I was wrong; they were not afraid; their faces
were calm, even serene. It was evident that the familiar Litany was
to them a sufficient armor against all dangers, and that there was no
fear in their hearts. The thought crossed my mind what a stranger in
spirit I was in presence of these Polish women, of whom each knows ten
times less than I, and according to human measure, is worth ten times
as much as I. They are like books of comparatively few pages, each
page containing clear and simple rules, whereas I, with all those
volumes of which I am composed, do not possess a single undoubted
truth.
It was but a passing thought, as presently the storm that broke upon
us with terrific force engaged all my attention. The wind rose again,
crashing among the trees. It fell at moments, and then the rain came
down in streams; no drops were visible, but long spouts that seemed to
join sky and earth. The avenues in the park were like foaming brooks.
Sometimes a strong gust of wind whipped the water into a fine spray
that hung between earth and sky and obscured the whole view. The
deafening roar of thunder went on incessantly. The air was saturated
with electricity. My pulses were beating loudly; in the rooms an
irritating smell of sulphur made itself felt. The raging elements
without seemed to influence me in a strange way, and I began to lose
control over myself.
"Do you want to see the storm?" I asked Aniela.
"Very well. Where from?"
"Come into the next room, there is a larger window."
We went and stood at the window. It was very dark then, and every
moment white and red forks of lightning tore across the clouds,
opening the skies and at the same time illuminating our faces and the
dark world without. Aniela was calm, but seemed every moment more
desirable.
"Are you afraid?" I whispered.
"No."
"Give me your hand."
She looked at me wonderingly. Another moment and I should have folded
her in my arms and pressed my lips against hers, and then let Ploszow
be razed to the ground, by the tempest. But she was terrified, not by
the storm, but by the expression of my face and that whisper; she drew
back from the window and returned to the room where the elder ladies
were sitting.
I remained alone,--with a feeling of anger and humiliation. That I
should have taken advantage of Aniela's confidence is quite certain,
and yet I felt offended by her want of trust, and resolved to pay her
out in some way. I stood for an hour at the window looking absently at
the lightning flashes. Then it grew lighter and lighter outside; at
last the clouds parted, and the sun shone forth fresh and bright and
as if wondering at the devastation the tempest had wrought.
It was very considerable; the avenues were still flooded with yellow,
foaming water, above which floated broken branches. Here and there big
trees were lying about, snapped across or torn out by the roots; the
bark was partly stripped from the trunks of pine trees, leaving what
looked like gaping wounds. Everywhere the eye could reach there was
ruin and devastation, as if after a battle.
When the water had drained off a little I went out toward the ponds
to ascertain the extent of the damage. Suddenly the whole park became
alive with people, who, with an almost savage energy, began to tear
off the broken branches and chop at the fallen trunks. It appears they
were peasant-lodgers who had no right in the woods. In the main, I
did not care whether they gathered the sticks, but as they had come
through the broken fence without permission, and in such a savage
manner, I, being out of humor, began to drive them away, my anger
rising at their stubborn resistance. At last I threatened them with
the village authorities, when suddenly, close by, the sweetest voice
in the world said in French:--
"Is there any harm in their clearing the park, Leon?"
I turned round and saw Aniela, her head covered with a kerchief tied
under her chin. With both hands she was holding up her dress, showing
up to the ankles her little feet encased in high boots; bending
slightly forward she looked at me entreatingly.
At her sight my anger vanished at once. I forgot the unpleasant
sensations that had troubled me a little while before, and looked at
her as if I could never fill myself enough with the sight.
"Is it your wish?" I asked.