Part 11

The Wlocek ladies came to ascertain the condition of Pani Krzycki's health and at the same time to beg Ladislaus for advice and succor, for in Gorek an agricultural strike had suddenly broke out among the manor and farmhouse laborers. The old coachman could hardly be induced to drive them to Jastrzeb for he was threatened with a beating. Both ladies were much frightened, much powdered, and more pathetic than ever. After the first greetings, mutual introductions, and a short talk about Pani Krzycki's rheumatism, the mother, at the after-dinner tea, addressed Ladislaus in doleful terms, adjuring him to hasten, like a knight of old, to the defence of oppressed innocence. She said that she was not concerned about herself, as after the losses she had survived and the suffering she had undergone, "the silent grave" in the Rzeslewo cemetery was the most appropriate refuge for her; but an orphan remained who still had some claims upon life. Let him extend some friendly protection and shield from blows and attacks this lone orphan for whom she herself was ready to sacrifice her life. To this the orphan replied that she too was not concerned about herself but about the peace of Mamma;--and in this manner the conversation changed almost exclusively in to a dialogue between these ladies in which the words, "Allow me, child," "Permit me, Mamma," were repeated every minute and in which the immoderate willingness of both parties to be immolated became in the end almost tart. Ladislaus, knowing these ladies of old, listened gravely; Pani Zosia looked at the bottom of her cup, not daring to glance at Marynia, who contracted the corners of her mouth; the notary sniffed and chewed; and the doctor ejaculated his "Ha!" with such resonance that the flies whisked off the net mantle which covered the butter and pastry.

But, in the meanwhile, out-of-doors the storm and thunder began to rage and interrupted the sacrificial dialogue between mother and daughter. The rooms darkened; on the windows for a time the patter of the shower was heard; and the lightning illuminated the cloudy firmament. But this lasted a brief while; after which Ladislaus began to reply and promise aid to the ladies, always with becoming gravity but at the same time with a peculiar kind of expression on his face which portended that the young wag had a surprise concealed in his bosom. He announced, therefore, that he was ready to mount a horse and invest Gorek with his care; afterwards he quieted the ladies with the assurances that the manifestations which had so alarmed them were transient; that in Rzeslewo, it was temporarily the same, but that undoubtedly within a short time means of foiling that evil would be found. In conclusion he turned to Pani Wlocek and, pointing at Dolhanski, unexpectedly said:

"I do not know whether my protection will be effective for I must watch at the same time over Rzeslewo and over Jastrzeb, in which at present we have such agreeable guests. But here is Pan Dolhanski, a man well known for his courage, energy, and sagacity, who has given me the best advice about Rzeslewo. If he wished to aid you or if he agreed to take into his hands the affairs of Gorek and Kwasnoborz, I am certain that he would establish order there in the course of a few days, and under his wings, ladies, no dangers could befall you."

All eyes, and particularly the eyes of the mother and daughter, were now directed at Dolhanski. But if Ladislaus, who wanted to revenge himself on him for his "officiousness," calculated that he would get him into an unexpected scrape, he was mistaken, for Dolhanski coolly bowed to the ladies from Gorek and replied, drawling each word as usual:

"With the greatest pleasure, but we must wait until the rain stops."

"Then, sir, you agree to be our knight?" cried Pani Wlocek, extending her hands towards him and at the same time gazing at him with a suddenly awakened curiosity and surprise.

"With the greatest pleasure," repeated Dolhanski; "the strike will be over to-morrow."

His complete self-assurance impressed everybody, particularly the ladies from Gorek. At the same time, the cold tone in which he spoke affected Pani Wlocek so much that for a while she lost her usual pathetic volubility and after an interval she replied:

"In the name of an orphan, I thank you."

But the orphan apparently preferred to thank him herself, for she stretched out both hands towards Dolhanski and after a brief silence, which might be explained by her emotions, spoke in a voice resembling the rustle of leaves:

"I am concerned about mamma."

"So am I," Dolhanski assured her.

But the mother and daughter now turned to each other:

"Allow me, child; here I am nothing."

"Permit me, Mamma; Mamma is everything."

"But I beg pardon, child--"

"Pardon me, Mamma,--"

And the strife about the burnt offerings began anew. It did not, however, last long, as, firstly, the doctor began to make so much noise that they could be heard with difficulty and then, Pani Krzycki, whom the young physician permitted to rise and move to an armchair, sent a message asking the ladies to visit her. After their departure the doctor went to the office to write out specifically where and how the cure should be conducted; the notary became occupied with his flute in the vestibule. Gronski, Dolhanski, and Ladislaus for a while remained alone.

Then Dolhanski addressed Ladislaus:

"What are these Gorek and Kwasnoborz?"

"About fifteen hundred acres, and there is also Zabianka."

"So I have heard. And the soil?"

"Almost the same as at Rzeslewo. In Zabianka it is said to be better."

"So I have heard. The state of the fortune?"

"Bad and good. Bad, because these ladies will not invest in anything. Good, because they have no debts and every penny which flows from the husbandry, after it gets into the stockings, never beholds daylight again."

"That is what I have been waiting for," said Dolhanski.

"They are as stingy as they are pathetic, and who knows whether they are not stingier?"

"Let them hoard."

And Gronski began to laugh and quoted:

"Sic vos non vobis nidificatis aves--sic vos non vobis mellificates apes--"

"Yes," said Dolhanski.

After which suddenly to Gronski:

"To-morrow I will propose for the hand of Cousin Otocka."

"To-day you are full of surprises," replied Gronski.

"Wait! And I will be given the mitten."

"Without any doubt."

"But I want to have a clear conscience. After which I will drive over to Gorek."

"That is already known. And you will quell the agitated waves of a strike."

"In the course of a day. As you see me here."

After which he pointed at Ladislaus.

"That simplex servus Dei became unwittingly an instrument in the hands of Providence. The Lord often avails Himself of pigmies. For this, when you become bankrupt in Jastrzeb, apply to me at Gorek."

"Provided that before that time you are not reduced to the same level," responded Ladislaus, laughing. "You are an excellent leveller."

"We live in an age of universal levelling. But what is Panna Wlocek's Christian name?"

"Kajetana."

"Plait-il?"

"Kajetana," repeated Krzycki. "Her father's christian name was Kajetan and she was named in memory of him."

"Tell me then why that well-stocked Kajetana preserved herself in her virgin state until the age of thirty or more?"

"Thirty-five, to be accurate. That is what my mother said not long ago. She remembers the day of her birth. As to why she is unmarried the reason is plain. Parties were not wanting but those ladies looked too high. In the neighborhood, we only have the common nobility; and among the Krzyckis there was not a bachelor of suitable age. You, in this respect, would correspond to their fantasy--"

"That is well!" answered Dolhanski, "only that name! Kajetana! Kajetana! That seems to be a kind of carriage or boat! Do I know?"

Gronski and Ladislaus regarded Dolhanski's announcement as a joke, as one of the sallies of wit which often crossed his mind. He, however, kept his word, for on the following day he proposed to Pani Otocka with due gravity and, after receiving an equally grave refusal, rode off to Gorek and settled there for a time. The young ladies, and even Pani Krzycki, were greatly amused and interested in all this, especially when the news reached them that the agrarian strike in Gorek ended the same day on which Dolhanski appeared. And it also ended a few days later in Rzeslewo, partly from the force of circumstances, from the conviction innate in the peasant soul that the "holy land" is not to be trifled with, and partly owing to the news which spread over the village that somebody from some kind of a committee was to come and decide the whole matter. Such was the case with the manor servants. The peasants and husbandmen did not want to agree to any school and would not relinquish the possession of the manor lands, but awaited this somebody in equal fear and hope, sacredly believing that not the will nor the law but some unknown power would decide everything. In the villages, in the meantime, more peaceful days ensued, and though the daily papers brought intelligence of increased commotion in the cities, Ladislaus believed that the local storm had passed away. This belief was shared by the guests. As the doctor had announced that Pani Krzycki's departure depended upon the first signs of alleviation of her suffering, Ladislaus determined to take the best advantage he could of the brief time the young ladies were to remain in Jastrzeb. The horseback excursions began and unless prevented by rain took place every morning. They were particularly agreeable to Ladislaus because Gronski, riding leisurely, kept company with his "adoration," while he could pass hours alone with Miss Anney. Both were expert riders; they usually dashed ahead and most frequently disappeared from view in the distance. At times, they set off at full gallop, and intoxicated themselves with the mad speed, the air, the sun, and each other. At other times they rode abreast, slowly, stirrup to stirrup, and then the silence into which they fell, anxious, full of inexpressible delight, linked them with ties yet stronger than those with which their conversation bound them. With a glance Krzycki scanned the figure of the golden-haired maiden, resembling on horseback the divine Grecian forms or those on Etruscan vases, and feasted his eyes. He listened to her voice and it seemed to him that it was music still nearer perfection than that which poured forth from Marynia's violin. At times when he assisted her to mount her horse, he had to exert the full strength of his will to refrain from pressing her foot to his lips and forehead. And often he thought that if he ever dared to do so, he would desire to remain in that position as long as possible. To this feminine being all his thoughts were impelled, and through the might and flight of his feeling, his desires ceased to be like crawling serpents and became like winged birds, capable of soaring unto heaven. His love each day became more like a whirlpool which drags to itself and engulfs everything. It seemed to Ladislaus that the air, the sun, the fields, the forests, the meadows, the scent of the trees and flowers, the song of birds and the evening playing of Marynia,--all these were only some of the elements of that love which belonged to Miss Anney and entered into her being and, without her, would be insignificant and without essence. Moreover, the whirlpool seized him and plunged him more and more deeply with a power to which each day he offered less resistance, for the simple reason that the abyss appeared to him to be the abyss of happiness. Ladislaus now did not surrender her to any Englishman "with protruding jaw" or any Scot "with bare knees," and would not have given her up for the whole of England and Scotland. He ceased trying to persuade himself that this was a type of woman, which he might have loved and, instead, he confessed to himself sincerely that she was a woman whom he did love. Love generated in him a bright and determined will; so now he thought, with the strict logic of feeling, that he craved to win this, to him, most precious and most desired being, to take and retain her for his whole life. There was only one road leading to that: therefore he determined to enter upon it with that heedless willingness which a man, who desires to be happy, evinces. Sometimes also a confession quivered upon his lips. He restrained it however and deferred it from day to day, at first owing to a timidity which every enamoured heart feels, and again through calculation. For if Love is blind, it certainly is not so to whatever may bring it benefits. It can even weigh benefits and obstacles upon such delicate scales that in this regard it is perhaps the most cautious, the most prescient, and the shrewdest of human feelings. In fact Ladislaus observed that his mother and Miss Anney were bound by a sympathy which, on the part of youth, health, and strength was productive of a certain friendly care, and on the part of weakness and old age, of gratitude. All three ladies were solicitous about his mother, but neither the solicitude of Pani Otocka, nor that of Marynia, was so vigilant or so efficacious as the watchfulness of Miss Anney. Pani Krzycki candidly said that even Ladislaus could not move from room to room with such dexterity the armchair to which temporary disability had riveted her; that he could not anticipate and humor her wants as could this light-haired "good English diviner."

To Krzycki, it frequently occurred that certainly this "good diviner" did all that through kindness and sincere friendship, but also because she wanted to conciliate his mother. And his heart trembled with joy at the thought that the moment would arrive when the wishes of his mother would coincide with that for which he, himself, most strongly yearned. He feared that a premature avowal might sever the ties which were being formed and for that reason he checked the word, which often burned his lips like a flame.

After all, there was an avowal in their silence and glances. Ladislaus did not dare and, until that time, did not wish to tell her plainly that he loved her; he wanted, however, with each word to clear the path and approach that eagerly desired moment. In the meantime it happened that, either from lack of breath he could not speak at all, or else he said something entirely different from what he intended to say. Once when they rode amidst luxuriant winter corn and when a light breeze bent towards them the rye stalks, together with the red poppy and the gray fescue-grass, he decided to tell her that all Jastrzeb bowed at her feet; and he said, with a great beating of his heart, in a hollow voice not his own, "that in places the grain is lying down." After which, in his soul, he called himself an idiot and fretted at the supposition that a similar opinion of him must have crossed her mind. It seemed to him that she, beyond comparison, exercised a better self-control and that she could always say just what she wished to say. Consequently, even at times when partly through coquetry and partly because of her habit of repeating his expressions like an echo, she answered, for instance, "that in places the grain is lying down," he discerned in her words an unheard-of significance and later pondered over them for hours.

But he also had, particularly in the morning, moments of greater tranquillity of mind and greater peace, in which his words were not like a disarrayed rank of soldiers, each one marching in a different direction. At times, the themes for these quieter conversations were furnished by some external objects, but oftener by anxiety occasioned by the impending separation. Krzycki at such times hid behind his mother and in her name expressed that which he did not dare to say in his own.

"I can imagine," he said the day following the second visit of the doctor, "how Mother will long for you."

And the maiden, to whom it evidently occurred that not only the mother but the son would long for her, looked at him a little teasingly, with the hazy light of her strange eyes, and replied:

"I am such a bird of flight that your mother will soon become disaccustomed to me."

"Oh, I warrant you that she will not," exclaimed Ladislaus.

After which, he added:

"I know Mother; she has fallen in love with you immensely."

"Why, hardly ten days have elapsed since we arrived. Is it possible to fall in love so soon?"

To this Ladislaus replied with deep conviction:

"It is! I give you my word, it is!"

There was something so naïve in the manner and tone of the reply that Miss Anney could not refrain from laughing. But he observed this and began to speak rapidly as if he wished to explain and justify himself:

"For do we know whence love comes? Often at the first glance of the eye upon a human face we have such an impression as if we found some one whom we were seeking. There are certain unalterable forces which mutually attract people, although before that time they may have never met and though they had lived far away from each other."

"And must such persons always meet each other?"

"No," he answered, "I think not always. But then perhaps they are continually yearning, not knowing for what, and feel an eternal vacuity in life."

And here, in spite of his will, the sincere poetry of youth and sentiment spoke through his lips:

"You called yourself a bird of flight," he said. "Beloved also is that bird, only not as a bird which flies away but rather as a bird which flies hitherward. For it flies unexpectedly from somewhere in the distance--from beyond the mountains, from beyond the sea, and nests in the heart, and begins to sing such a song that one hearing it would fain close his eyes and never waken again."

And thus he spoke until he grew pale from emotion. For a time he was agitated, like a whirlwind, by the desire to dismount from his horse and embrace the feet of the maiden with his arms and cry: "Thou art that beloved one: therefore do not fly away, my dear bird!" But simultaneously he was seized by a prodigious fear of that night which would encompass him if his entreaty should prove futile.

So he merely uncovered his head, as if he wanted to display his heated forehead. A long silence, which fell between them, was only interrupted by the snorting of the horses, which now proceeded in an ambling pace, emitting under the bridles a white foam.

After which Miss Anney spoke in a subdued voice which sounded a little like a warning:

"I hear Pan Gronski approaching with Marynia."

In fact the other couple soon approached, happy and animated. Marynia, a few paces away, exclaimed:

"Pan Gronski was telling me such beautiful things about Rome. I am sorry that you did not hear them."

"More about the neighborhood of Rome, than Rome itself," said Gronski.

"Yes. I was in Tivoli. I was in Castel Gandolfo, in Nemi. Wonders! I will tease Zosia until in truth we will go there and Pan Gronski with us."

"Will you take me along?" asked Miss Anney.

"Of course! We will all go in the autumn or next spring. Did you folks also talk about a trip?"

For a time there was no response.

"No," Miss Anney finally replied. "We were talking about birds of flight."

"Why, now it is spring and birds do not fly away."

"Nevertheless, you ladies are making preparations for flying away," answered Ladislaus with a sigh.

"True," rejoined Marynia; "but that is because Aunt is going away; and she"--here she pointed at Miss Anney with her riding whip--"has urged us all three to go where the doctor is sending Aunt."

After which she said to Ladislaus:

"You would not believe, sir, how honest she is and how she loves Aunt."

"I, not believe? I?" cried Ladislaus with ardor.

But Miss Anney, who a short time before had asked him whether one could fall in love so soon, became greatly confused and, dropping the reins, began with both hands to set something right on her hat, wishing to cover with them her countenance which glowed like the dawn.

Ladislaus had heaven in his heart, and Marynia, for some time, gazed with her pellucid eyes, now at him and then at Miss Anney, for it was no secret to her that Krzycki was in love up to his ears, and this aroused her curiosity and amused her indescribably.

XII

"See what I received to-day," said Ladislaus, handing Gronski a letter which came with others in the morning mail.

Gronski glanced at it and knit his brow.

"Ah!" he said, "a death sentence."

"Yes."

"With the seal of the P. P. S. They are distributing them quite prodigally."

"Yes, just like the opposite party."

"Both are alike. The notary also has one and the doctor several. What do you think of it?"

"Je m'en fiche! But the situation amuses me. I do not know whether you have heard that the Provincial guards have unearthed a secret school in Jastrzeb, which I founded a year ago because my conscience commanded me to. It is a case which I greased but have not yet greased sufficiently. As a result, I now have suspended over me the fists of the authorities and the fists of the socialists. Enjoyable, is it not?"

"It has often occurred to me that elsewhere people could not live under such conditions, and we not only live but laugh quite merrily."

"For such is our sinewy Lechite nature."

"Perhaps that is so. You must, nevertheless, be on your guard and it will be necessary to send the ladies away."

"It will be necessary, it will be necessary," repeated Ladislaus. "And abroad too, for it is unsafe in Warsaw. But please do not say anything about this foolish sentence to Mother or any one else."

"Certainly."

"Mother positively insists upon my accompanying her, and I do not try to shun that--oh, no, not in the least! But summer is approaching and after that there will be the harvest. The overseer is an honest man but before my departure I must give him some specific instructions how and what he is to do. After they all leave, I would like to stay yet for a week or ten days. Mother will not be alone and without care, as in the first place the younger members of the family will be with her, and again you heard Cousin Marynia say that the ladies will go wherever Mother would be. Through all my life I will ever be grateful to Miss Anney for that proposal; for to Mother nothing could be better or more agreeable."

"And for her son also, it seems to me," said Gronski, laughing.

Ladislaus remained silent for a time; after which he began to press the palms of his hands on his temples and replied:

"Yes. For why should I deny that which I confessed to myself and which everybody sees but Mother, who has not observed it because she seldom saw us together. But she also has fallen in love with Miss Anney. Who would not love her? Such a dear, golden creature. I have not, as yet, said anything to Mother because she has her mind set upon Pani Otocka and it will be unpleasant for her to give up the thought. I fear she might be offended. After all, I only know what is taking place within me, and nothing more. I dare not even say that I have any reasons for my illusion. I fear that it may all at once burst like a soap-bubble. Ah! How unhappy I would be. Already I cannot see anything in this world beyond her. Candidly speaking, I do not know what to do with myself, Jastrzeb, and life."

And grasping Gronski's hand, he continued:

"If you would only speak with Pani Otocka and ascertain from her whether I may have hope; for they are friends and certainly do not keep any secrets from each other. If you would only do this for me; and in due time speak with Mother! But with Pani Otocka as soon as possible! Will you do it?"