The day of my betrothal is drawing near. I buy a beautiful ring in the
style of Louis XV. which does not please the Suslovskis, nor even Kazia,
for in that whole house there is no one who has an idea of real art.
I must work much yet over Kazia to destroy in her vulgar preferences and
teach her to feel artistically; but since she loves me, I am hopeful.
I invited no one to the betrothal except Antek. I wanted him to visit
the Suslovskis as a preliminary; but he declared, that though physically
and morally bankrupt, he has not become so degraded yet as to go
visiting. It cannot be helped! I forewarn the Suslovskis that my friend
is an original beyond compare, but a painter of genius and the most
honest man in the world.
Suslovski, learning that my friend paints "corpses," raises his brows,
declaring that hitherto he has had to do with decent people, that his
whole official career is unspotted, and that he hopes my friend will
respect the manners prevailing in an honorable and decorous house.
I confess to myself that I am not free from fears touching Antek, and
from the morning hours I am at war with him. He insists on wearing
leggings. I persuade, I implore, I entreat.
At last he gives way, declaring that he sees no reason decisively why he
should not remain a fool. It is a pity that his shoes remind one of
explorers in Central Africa; for no blacking has touched them since they
were brought from the shoemaker's on credit!
Still worse, Antek's head looks like the summit of the Carpathian
Mountains, covered with forests, torn by columns of wind. I must put up
with this, for there is no comb on earth which could conquer that
forelock; but I force him to put on a frock coat, instead of the blouse
which he wears every day. He does this, but has the look of one of his
corpses, and falls into sepulchral humor.
On the street people turn to look at his knotty stick and his immense
tattered hat; but I am accustomed to this.
We ring; we enter.
In the antechamber, the voice of Cousin Yachkovich reaches me; he is
discoursing on overpopulation. Cousin Yachkovich is always discoursing
on overpopulation; that is his hobby. Kazia looks in her muslin like a
cloud, and pretty. Suslovski is in a dress-coat; the relatives are in
dress-coats; the old aunts are in silk gowns.
Antek's entrance makes an impression. They look at him with a certain
disquiet. He looks around gloomily, and informs Suslovski that in truth
he would not have come "unless Vladek were getting married, or something
of that sort."
This "something of that sort" is received most fatally. Suslovski
straightens himself with dignity, and inquires what is meant by
"something of that sort." Antek answers that it is all one to him; but
"for Vladek" he might even knock his heels off, especially if he knew
that Pan Suslovski cared anything about the matter. My future
father-in-law looks at his wife, at me, at Kazia, with a look in which
amazement is struggling with mortification.
Happily I save the position, and, with presence of mind rare with me,
beg my future father-in-law to present me to those members of his family
with whom I am still unacquainted.
The presentation follows; then we sit down. Kazia sits near me, and lets
her hand stay in mine. The room is full of people; but all are stiff and
silent. The atmosphere is heavy.
Cousin Yachkovich begins again at his talk on overpopulation. My Antek
looks under the table. In the silence the voice of Yachkovich is heard
with increasing shrillness; not having a front tooth, whenever he has to
pronounce sz, he utters a prolonged hiss.
"The most dreadful catastrophe may arise from this for all Europe," said
Yachkovich.
"Emigration," put in some one from aside.
"Statistics show, that emigration will not prevent overpopulation."
Suddenly Antek raises his head and turns his fishy eyes toward the
speaker. "Then Chinese customs should be introduced among us," says he,
with a gloomy bass.
"With permission,--what Chinese customs?"
"In China parents have the right to smother imbecile children. Well,
then, with us, children should have the right to kill imbecile parents."
It has come! The bolt has struck; the sofa groans under the aunts; and I
am lost. Suslovski closes his eyes, and loses speech for a season.
Silence.
Then is heard the voice of my coming father-in-law, trembling with
terror,--
"My dear sir, I hope, that as a Christian--"
"Why must I be a Christian?" interrupts Antek, shaking his head
ominously.
Another thunderbolt!
The sofa with the aunts begins to tremble as if in a fever; it vanishes
from my sight; I feel the earth opening beneath me. All is lost; all
hope is vain.
Suddenly Kazia's laughter rings out, resonant as a bell; then Yachkovich
bursts into laughter, not knowing why; after Yachkovich, I laugh, also
not knowing why.
"Father!" cries Kazia, "Vladek forewarned father, that Pan Svyatetski
[Antek] is an original. Pan Svyatetski is joking; he has a mother, I
know that, and he is the best of sons to her."
A rogue, not a maiden, that Kazia!--not only does she invent, but she
divines. In fact, Antek has a mother, and he is a good son to her.
Kazia's words make a certain diversion. The entrance of a servant with
wine and cake makes a still greater diversion. That servant is the
watchman who took my last three rubles; but now he is arrayed in a
dress-coat, and comes out with the dignity of a waiting-man. He keeps
his eyes fixed on the tray; the glasses rattle, and he moves forward as
slowly as if he were carrying glasses filled with water. I begin to fear
that he will drop them all to the floor; fortunately my fear proves
barren.
After a while the glasses are filled. We proceed to the act of
betrothal.
A little cousin holds a porcelain plate on which two rings are lying.
The eyes are creeping out of her head with curiosity, and the whole
ceremony causes her such evident pleasure that she is dancing together
with the plate and rings. Suslovski rises; all rise; the noise of the
chairs is heard as they are pushed back.
Silence follows. I hear one of the matrons remark in a whisper, how she
had hoped that my ring "would be better." In spite of this remark there
is such solemnity of feeling that flies are dropping from the wall.
Suslovski begins to speak,--
"My children, receive the blessing of your parents."
Kazia kneels; I kneel as well.
What a physiognomy Antek must have at this moment, what a face! I dare
not look at him; I look at Kazia's muslin robe, which, on the faded red
sofa, makes a very nice spot. The hands of Suslovski and of Pani
Suslovski rest on our heads; then my future father-in-law says,--
"My daughter, thou hast had the best example at home of what a wife
should be to a husband, therefore I need not teach thee thy duties,
which moreover thy husband will indicate to thee." (I hope so.) "But I
turn to thee, Pan Vladislav--"
Here begins a speech during which I count to one hundred, and having
counted to a hundred, I begin again at one. Suslovski the citizen,
Suslovski the official, Suslovski the father, Suslovski the Roman, had
the opportunity of showing all his grandeur of soul. The words: child,
parents, duties, future, blessing, thorns, pure conscience, buzz around
my ears like a swarm of wasps, sit on my head, sting me on the
above-mentioned ears as well as on my neck and forehead.
It must be that I tied my cravat too tightly, for it is suffocating me.
I hear the weeping of Pani Suslovski, which affects me, for at heart she
is an honest woman; I hear the sound of the rings, held on the plate by
the dancing little cousin. O Lord Christ, what a face that Antek must
have!
At last we rise. The little cousin thrusts the plate under my very eyes.
Kazia and I exchange rings.
Uf! I am betrothed! I suppose this to be the end; but no, Suslovski
calls us to go and beg a blessing of all the aunts.
We go. I kiss five hands which are like the feet of storks. All the
aunts hope that I will not deceive their confidence.
What the devil confidence can they have in me? Cousin Yachkovich seizes
me in his embraces. Absolutely I must have tied my cravat too tightly.
But the worst is over. Tea is brought in. I sit near Kazia, and it seems
to me all the time that I do not see Antek. The monkey, he frightens me
once more; when the question whether he will have rum in his tea is
asked, he answers that he drinks rum only by the bottle. At last the
evening is ended successfully.
We go out. I draw in the air with full breast. Indeed, my cravat was too
tight.
Antek and I walk on in silence. The silence begins to weigh on me and
soon becomes unendurable. I feel that I must talk to Antek, tell him
something of my happiness, how handsomely all has passed, how I love
Kazia--
I prepare, but it is of no use! At last when just near the studio I
say,--
"Own up, Antek, that life is still beautiful."
Antek halts, casts a frowning glance at me, and says,--
"Poodle!"
That night we conversed no more with each other.