Whirlpools

"Almost."

"What? – at the piano! I guessed it at once! Ho, ho! I am thoroughly conversant with such matters. But how was that? Almost? How, almost?"

"For I know that he loves me-"

"Laudie? What did he say to you?"

"He did not even have to say it."

"I understand, I understand perfectly."

Miss Anney, though her eyes were moist, began to laugh, and, hugging the little violinist again, said:

"Let us now return to the salon."

"Let us return," answered Marynia.

On the way she said with delighted countenance:

"You and Zosia, thought that I saw nothing, and I-oho!"

In the salon they chanced upon a political discussion. The tall elderly gentleman with the white mane, who was a colleague and friend of the late Otocki and at the same time editor of one of the principal dailies in Warsaw, said:

"They think that this is a new state of affairs, which henceforth is bound to continue, but it is an attack of hysteria, after which exhaustion and prostration will follow. I have lived long in the world and often have witnessed similar phenomena. Yes, it is so. It is a stupid and wicked revolution."

If Swidwicki had heard from some madman that this was a wise and salutary revolution, he undoubtedly would have been of the opinion of the old editor, but, as he esteemed lightly journalists in general, he was particularly angered at the thought that the amiable old gentleman passed in certain circles as a political authority; so he began at once to dispute.

"Only the bottomless naïvete of the conservatives," he said, "is capable of demanding from a revolution reason and goodness. It is the same as demanding, for instance, of a conflagration that it should be gentle and sensible. Every revolution is the child of the passions-unreason and rage-and not of love. Its aim is to blow up the old forms of folly and evil and forcibly introduce into life the new."

"And how do you picture to yourself the new?"

"In reality as also foolish and wicked-but new. Upon such transitions our history is based, and even the annals of mankind in general."

"That is the philosophy of despair."

"Or of laughter."

"If of laughter, then it is egoism."

"Yes, that is so. My partisanship begins with me and ends with me."

Gronski impatiently smacked his lips; while the editor took off his spectacles and, winking with his eyes, began to wipe them with a handkerchief.

"I beg pardon," he said with great phlegm. "Your party affiliations may be very interesting but I wanted to speak of others."

"Less interesting-"

But the old journalist turned to Gronski.

"Our socialists," he said, "have undertaken the reconstruction of a new house, forgetting that we live huddled together in only a few rooms, and that in the others dwell strangers who will not assent to it; or rather, on the contrary, they will permit the demolition of those few rooms, but will not allow their reconstruction."

"Then it is better to blow up the whole structure with dynamite," interjected Swidwicki.

But this remark was passed over in silence; after which Gronski said:

"One thing directly astonishes me, and that is that the conservatives turn with the greatest rage not against the revolutionists, but against the national patriots, who do not desire a revolution and who alone have sufficient strength to prevent it. I understand that a foreign bureaucracy does this, but why should our patres conscripti clear the way in this for them?"

The editor replaced the spectacles, wetted his finger in the tea seeking the cup, afterwards raised it to his lips, drank, and replied:

"The reason of that is their greater blindness and sense."

"Please explain!" exclaimed Swidwicki, who was a little impressed by this reply.

And the neighbor from Zalesin, who eagerly listened to the words of the journalist, asked:

"How is that, sir benefactor? I do not understand."

"Yes, it is so," answered the editor. "Their greater blindness is due to the narrower horizon, to the lack of ability to look ahead into the future, into those times and ages which are yet to come, for which it is a hundred times more important that the great Sacred Fire.[8 - Referring to the Sacred Fire of pagan Lithuanians.] should not be extinguished than that any immediate paltry benefits should be obtained. It is necessary to have a sense of coming events, and this they do not possess. They are a little like Esau who relinquished his heritage for a pot of lentils. And for us it is not allowable to relinquish anything. Absolutely nothing! On the other hand, when concerned about isolated moments, about ranks and connections in a given instant of time, the conservatives are a hundred times more sensible, adroit-commit far less errors in details and view matters more soberly. I speak of this with entire impartiality for I myself am a nonpartisan."

"Who is right neither in the present time nor will be in the future," interposed Swidwicki. "After all, I agree that the difference between the views of politicians favoring reconciliation and sentimental patriots and zealots in general lies in this, that from political moderation you can immediately coin money, though at times counterfeit, but from sentimental politics, – only in the future. History confirms at every stage that what one hundred, fifty, or twenty years ago appeared to be political or social insanity, to-day has entered into being. And it will be ever thus in the further course of time."

"That may be," said Gronski, "but it is only just so far as radicalism of ideas or the furies of feeling do not strike terror in a great, stupid, immediate act. For if this occurs a crime is perpetrated, and error is born which menaces the future. This happens frequently."

"And I assume that this is just what the conservatives fear," answered the journalist, "an excessively warm patriotism-and it must be admitted, often improvident and absurd in its manifestations-strikes them with terror. Formerly they feared that the peasants, who read 'The Pole' might take to their scythes. At present they have gooseflesh when some zealot breaks out with a word about the future kingdom of Poland."

"Kingdom of Poland!" said Swidwicki, snorting ironically. "I will tell you gentlemen an anecdote. A certain Russian official became insane and suffered from a mania of greatness. In reality his delusion lay in this, that he attained the highest position in heaven as well as on earth. And whom do you suppose that he imagined himself to be?"

"Well! God?"

"More."

"I confess that my imagination reels," answered Gronski.

"Ah, you see! In the meantime he invented a position still higher, for he represented himself as the 'presiding officer' of the Holy Trinity. Understand? That there was a committee consisting of God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost-and he was its chairman. Is not that more?"

"True, but why do you cite that anecdote?"

"As a proof that for diseased brains there are no impossibilities and that only such brains can think of a kingdom of Poland."

Gronski remained silent for a while, and then said: "Twenty millions of people are something tangible, and permit me to say that the chairmanship of the Holy Trinity is a greater impossibility. What do you know about the future and who can divine it? The most you can say is that in view of the present conditions the thought of creating anything like it by force, through revolution, would be a mistake, and even a crime. But our nation will be devoured only when it allows itself to be devoured. But if it does not? If through great and noble efforts it shall bring forth enlightenment, social discipline, prosperity, science, literature, art, wealth, sanitation, a quiet internal strength, then what? And who to-day can tell what shape in the future the political and social conditions will assume? Who can vouch that the systems of government of the present day may not entirely change, that they will not fall and will not be adjudged as idiotic and criminal as to-day we regard tortures? Who can divine what governments will arise in that great sea which is humanity? The man who, for instance, in the time of Cicero would have said that social economy could exist without slavery would have been deemed crazy, and, nevertheless, to-day slavery does not exist. And in our political relations something similar might take place. To-day's conditions of coercion might change into voluntary and free unions. I do not know whether it will be so, but you do not know that it will not be so. In view of this, I see the necessity of quiet and iron labor, but I do not see the necessity of the repudiation or renunciation of any ideals-and I will tell you too that the Pole who does not bear that great ideal, at the bottom of his soul, is in a measure a renegade; and I do not understand why he does not renounce everything."

"Write that in verse and in Latin," answered Swidwicki with impatience, "for in that manner you will upset the heads of a less number of men."

"Then our present day antagonists may themselves say to us: 'Arrange matters to suit yourselves.' At the present moment it may seem a naïve fancy, but the future carries in its bosom such surprises, as not only the shortsighted politicians have not dreamed of, but even philosophers who can look ahead."

After which, having evidently sufficient of this discussion, he added:

"But enough of this. I suspend the argument and pause. To-day we must occupy ourselves not with politics, but with the young lady whose birthday we celebrate and whom undoubtedly such things weary."