Children of the Soil

“Because he did not take lessons from thee. My dear friend, no one is listening to us, so I may say that all thy life thou hast been doing nothing else.”

“Then thou art sure that I will pay thee?”

“I am.”

“Thou art right; I wanted of thee a favor to which I have no claim. But even I feel wearied at last of all this, – to take something here and thrust it in there; to live eternally in such a whirl passes human power in the long run. I am sailing, as it were, into the harbor. In two months I shall be on a new footing, but meanwhile I am using the last of my steam; ’tis not in thy way to oblige me; the position is difficult. There is a small forest in Kremen; I will cut that and pay, since there is no other way.”

“What forests are there in Kremen? Old Plavitski shaved off everything that could be taken.”

“There is a large oak grove behind the house, toward Nedzyalkov.”

“True, there is.”

“I know that thou and Bigiel take up such affairs. Buy that forest; it will spare me the search for a purchaser, and he and thou can come out of the business with profit.”

“I will discuss it with Bigiel.”

“Then thou wilt not refuse in advance?”

“No; if thou give it cheaply, I may even take the forest myself. But in such matters I need to calculate the possible profits or losses; I want also to know thy terms. Make thy own estimates. Send me thy list; how many trees there are, and what kinds.”

“I will send it in an hour.”

“In that case I will give thee an answer in the evening.”

“I advise thee beforehand of one thing, – thou wilt not have the right to cut oak for two months.”

“Why is that?”

“Because Kremen will lose greatly by losing that ornament; hence I propose that it be resold to me after the marriage, of course at a good profit to thee.”

“We shall see.”

“Besides, I have marl in Kremen; thou hast spoken to me of this. Plavitski reckoned it at millions, – that, of course, is nonsense; but in the hands of clever men it might be made a paying business. Think that over, too, with Bigiel; I would take thee into partnership.”

“Should the business seem good, we may take it; our house exists to gain profit.”

“Then we will talk of the marl later on; but now I return to the oak. Let the general outline of our bargain be this, – that I, instead of the first payment, give thee the oak grove, or a part of it, according to estimate. I give it in some sense in pledge, and thou art obliged not to cut trees before the close of the following quarter.”

“I can do that; evidently there will be questions later on as to removal of the oak, which we shall mention when writing the contract, if, in general, we write one.”

“Then there is at least one burden off my head,” said Mashko, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “Imagine that I have ten or fifteen such every day, not counting conversations on business with Pani Kraslavski, which are more wearying than all else, and then waiting on my betrothed, who” – here Mashko interrupted himself for a moment, but suddenly waved his hand, and added – “which also is not easy.”

Pan Stanislav looked at him with amazement. On the lips of Mashko, who, in every word, followed society observances so closely, this was something unheard of. Mashko, however, spoke on, —

“But let that pass; thou knowest how near we were to quarrelling before Litka’s death. I had not in mind thy great love for that little maiden; I forgot that thou wert disturbed and annoyed. I acted rudely; the fault was on my side entirely, and I beg thy pardon.”

“That is a forgotten affair,” said Pan Stanislav.

“I revive it because I have a service to beg of thee. The affair is of this kind: I have not friends, blood relatives; I haven’t them, or if I have, it is not worth while to exhibit them. Now, I must find groomsmen, and, in truth, I do not know well where to look for them. I have managed the business of various young lords, as thou knowest; but to ask the first young fellow whom I meet, because he has a title, does not beseem me, and I am unwilling to do so. With me it is a question of having groomsmen who are people of position, and, I tell thee openly, with prominent names. Those ladies, too, attach great importance to this matter. Wilt thou be a groomsman for me?”

“In other circumstances I would not refuse; but I will tell thee how it is. Look at me: I have no crape on my hat nor white tape on my coat, therefore I am not in mourning; but I give thee my word that I am in deeper mourning than if my own child were dead.”

“That is true; I had not thought of that,” said Mashko. “I beg thy pardon.”

These words impressed Pan Stanislav.

“But if this is very important; if, in truth, thou art unable to find another, – let it be according to thy wish; but I say sincerely that for me, after such a funeral, it will be difficult to assist at a wedding.”

Pan Stanislav did not say, it is true, at such a wedding, but Mashko divined his thought. “There is another circumstance, too,” continued he. “Thou must have heard of a certain poor little doctor, who fell in love to the death with thy betrothed. She was free not to return his love, no man will reproach her for that; but he, poor fellow, went his way somewhere to the land where pepper grows, and the deuce took him. Dost understand? I was in friendship with that doctor; he confided his misfortune to me, and wept out his secret. Dost understand? In these conditions to be groomsman for another – say thyself.”

“And did that man really die of love for my betrothed?”

“But hast thou not heard of it?”

“Not only have I not heard, but I cannot believe my own ears.”

“Knowest thou what, Mashko, marriage changes a man; but I see that betrothal does also, – I do not recognize thee simply.”

“Because, as I have said, I am so weary that breath fails me, and at such times the mask falls.”

“What dost thou mean by that?”

“I mean that there are two kinds of people, – one, of people who never limit themselves by anything, and arrange their modes of action according to every circumstance; the other, of people having a certain system which they hold to with more or less sequence. I belong to the second. I am accustomed to observe appearances, and, what is more, accustomed so long that at last it has become a second nature to me. But, for example, when travelling in time of great heat, a moment may come on the man who is most comme il faut, when he will unbutton not only his coat, but his shirt; such a moment has come on me, therefore I unbutton.”

“This means? – ”

“It means that I am transfixed with astonishment that any man could fall in love to the death with my betrothed, who is, as thou on a time didst give me to understand, cold, formal, and as mechanical in words, thoughts, and movements as if wound up with a key; that is perfectly true, and I confirm it. I do not wish thee to hold me for a greater wretch than I am; I do not love her, and my wife will be as formal as my betrothed. I loved Panna Plavitski, who rejected me. Panna Kraslavski I take for her property. Call this iniquity, if it suit thee to do so; I will answer that such iniquity has been committed, or will be committed, by thousands among those so-called honorable people, to whom thou art ready to give thy hand. Moreover, life does not flow on in delight for people thus married, but also not in tragedy; they limp, but go forward. Later on they are aided by years spent together, which bring a species of attachment, by children who are born to them; and they get on in some fashion. Such are most marriages, for the majority choose to walk on the earth, rather than scale summits. Sometimes there are even worse marriages: when a woman wishes to fly, and a man to creep, or vice versa, there is no chance for an understanding. As to me, I have worked like an ox. Coming from a reduced family, I wished to gain distinction, I confess. If I had consented to remain an obscure attorney, and acquire merely money, perhaps I should have unlocked and thrown open to my son the door to light; but I have no love for my children before they come into the world, hence I wished not only to have money myself, but to be somebody, to mean something, to occupy a position, to have such weight as with us it is possible to have, at least in society. From this it has happened that what the advocate gained, the great lord expended; position obliges. This is why I have not money. Struggling of this sort has wearied me. Opening holes in one place to fill them in another, – for this reason I marry Panna Kraslavski; who again marries me for the reason that, if I am not really a great lord, amusing himself in the legal career, I am so apparently. The match is even; there is no injustice to any one, and neither has tricked the other, or, if it please thee, we have tricked each other equally. Here is the whole truth for thee; now despise me if thou wish.”

“As God lives, I have never respected thee more,” answered Pan Stanislav; “for now I admire not thy sincerity merely, but also thy courage.”

“I accept the compliment because thou art candid; but in what dost thou see courage?”

“In this, – that having so few illusions as to Panna Kraslavski, thou art going to marry her.”

“I marry her because I am more wise than foolish. I looked for money, it is true; but thinkest thou that for money I would marry the first woman I met who possessed it? By no means, my dear friend. I take Panna Kraslavski, and I know what I am doing. She has her great qualities, indispensable under the circumstances in which I take her, and in which she marries me. She will be a cold, unagreeable wife, sour, and even contemptuous, in so far as she does not fear me; but, on the other hand, Panna Kraslavski, as well as her mother, has a religious respect for appearances, – for what is fitting, or, speaking generally, for what is polite. This is one point. Further, there is not even one germ in her from which love intrigues could grow; and life with her, be it disagreeable as it may, will never end in scandal. This is the second. Third, she is pedantic in everything, as well in religion as in fulfilment of all the duties which she may take on herself. This is, indeed, a great quality. I shall not be happy with her, but I can be at peace; and who knows if this is not the maximum possible to ask of life, and I tell thee, my dear friend, that when a man takes a wife he should think before all of future peace. In a mistress seek what pleases thee, – wit, temperament, a poetical form of sensitiveness. But with a wife one must live years; seek in her that on which one can rely, – seek principles.”

“I have never thought thee a fool,” said Pan Stanislav; “but I see that thou hast more wit than I suspected.”

“Our women – take those, for example, of the money world – are formed really on the French novel; and what comes of that is known to thee.”

“More or less; but to-day thou art so eloquent that I listen to thy description with pleasure.”

“Well, a woman becomes her own God and her own measure of right.”

“And for her husband?”

“A chameleon and a tragedy.”