Children of the Soil

But they did not understand this yet, either of them.

CHAPTER XXXVII

“I do not ask if thou art happy,” said Bigiel to Pan Stanislav after his return to Warsaw; “with such a person as thy wife it is not possible to be unhappy.”

“True,” answered Pan Stanislav; “Marynia is such an honest little woman that it would be hard to find a better.” Then, turning to Pani Bigiel, he said, —

“We are both happy, and it cannot be otherwise. You remember, dear lady, our former conversations about love and marriage? You remember how I feared to meet a woman who would try to hide the world from her husband with herself, to occupy all his thoughts, all his feelings, to be the single object of his life? You remember how I proved to you and Pani Emilia that love for a woman could not and should not in any case be for a man everything; that beyond it there are other questions in the world?”

“Yes; but I remember also how I told you that domestic occupations do not hinder me in any way from loving my children; for I know in some fashion, as it seems to me, that these things are not like boxes, for example, of which, when you have put a certain number on a table, there is no room for others.”

“My wife is right now,” said Bigiel. “I have noticed that people often deceive themselves when they transfer feelings or ideas into material conditions. When it is a question of feelings or ideas, space is not to be considered.”

“Oh, stop! Thou art conquered to the country,” said Pan Stanislav, humorously.

“But if the position is pleasant for me?” said Bigiel, promptly. “Moreover, thou, too, wilt be conquered.”

“I?”

“Yes; with honesty, kindness, and heart.”

“That is something different. It is possible to be conquered, and not be a slipper. Do not hinder me in praising Marynia; I have succeeded in a way that could not be improved, and specially for this reason, – that she is satisfied with the feeling which I have for her, and has no wish to be my exclusive idol. For this I love her. God has guarded me from a wife demanding devotion of the whole soul, whole mind, whole existence; and I thank Him sincerely, since I could not endure such a woman. I understand more easily that all may be given of free will, and when not demanded.”

“Believe me, Pan Stanislav,” answered Pani Bigiel, “that in this regard we are all equally demanding; but at first we take frequently that part for the whole which they give us, and then – ”

“And then what?” interrupted Pan Stanislav, rather jokingly.

“Then those who have real honesty in their hearts attain to something which for you is a word without meaning, but for us is often life’s basis.”

“What kind of talisman is that?”

“Resignation.”

Pan Stanislav laughed, and added, “The late Bukatski used to say that women put on resignation frequently, as they do a hat, because it becomes them. A resignation hat, a veil of light melancholy, – are they ugly?”

“No, not ugly. Say what you please; they may be a dress, but in such a dress it is easier to reach heaven than in another.”

“Then my Marynia is condemned to hell, for she will never wear that dress, I think. But you will see her in a moment, for she promised to come here after office hours. She is late, the loiterer; she ought to be here now.”

“Her father is detaining her, I suppose. But you will stay to dine with us, will you not?”

“We will stay to dine. Agreed.”

“And some one else has promised us to-day, so the society will only be increased. I will go now to tell them to prepare places for you.”

Pani Bigiel went out; but Pan Stanislav asked Bigiel, —

“Whom hast thou at dinner?”

“Zavilovski, the future letter-writer of our house.”

“Who is he?”

“That poet already famous.”

“From Parnassus to the desk? How is that?”

“I do not remember, now, who said that society keeps its geniuses on diet. People say that this man is immensely capable, but he cannot earn bread with verses. Our Tsiskovski went to the insurance company; his place was left vacant, and Zavilovski applied. I had some scruples, but he told me that for him this place was a question of bread, and the chance of working. Besides, he pleased me, for he told me at once that he writes in three languages, but speaks well in none of them; and second, that he has not the least conception of mercantile correspondence.”

“Oh, that is nonsense,” answered Pan Stanislav; “he will learn in a week. But will he keep the place long, and will not the correspondence be neglected? Business with a poet!”

“If he is not right, we will part. But when he applied, I chose to give the place to him. In three days he is to begin. Meanwhile, I have advanced a month’s salary; he needed it.”

“Was he destitute?”

“It seems so. There is an old Zavilovski, – that one who has a daughter, a very wealthy man. I asked our Zavilovski if that was a relative of his; he said not, but blushed, so I think that the old man is his relative. But how it is with us? A balance in nothing. Some deny relationship because they are poor; others, because they are rich. All through some fancy, and because of that rascally pride. But he’ll please thee; he pleased my wife.”

“Who pleased thy wife?” asked Pani Bigiel, coming in.

“Zavilovski.”

“For I read his beautiful verses entitled, ‘On the Threshold.’ At the same time he looks as if he were hiding something from people.”

“He is hiding poverty, or rather, poverty was hiding him.”

“No; he looks as if he had passed through some severe disappointment.”

“Thou wert able to see in him a romance, and to tell me that he had suffered much. Thou wert offended when I put forth the hypothesis that it might be from worms in childhood, or scald-head. That was not poetical enough for her.”

Pan Stanislav looked at his watch, and was a little impatient.

“Marynia is not coming,” said he; “what a loiterer!”

But the “loiterer” came at that moment, or rather, drove up. The greeting was not effusive, for she had seen the Bigiels at the railway. Pan Stanislav told his wife that they would stay to dine, to which she agreed willingly, and fell to greeting the children, who rushed into the room in a swarm.

Now came Zavilovski, whom Bigiel presented to Pan Stanislav and Marynia. He was a man still young, – about seven or eight and twenty. Pan Stanislav, looking at him, considered that in every case his mien was not that of a man who had suffered much; he was merely ill at ease in a society with which he was more than half unacquainted. He had a nervous face, and a chin projecting prominently, like Wagner’s, gladsome gray eyes, and a very delicate forehead, whiter than the rest of his face; on his forehead large veins formed the letter Y. He was, besides, rather tall and somewhat awkward.

“I have heard,” said Pan Stanislav to him, “that in three days you will be our associate.”

“Yes, Pan Principal,” answered the young man; “or rather, I shall serve in the office.”

“But give peace to the ‘principal,’” said Pan Stanislav, laughing. “With us it is not the custom to use the words ‘grace,’ or ‘principal’ unless perchance such a title would please my wife by giving her importance in her own eyes. But listen, Pani Principaless,” said he, turning to Marynia, “would it please thee to be called principaless? It would be a new amusement.”

Zavilovski was confused; but he laughed too, when Marynia answered, —

“No; for it seems to me that a principaless ought to wear an enormous cap like this” (here she showed with her hands how big), “and I cannot endure caps.”

It grew pleasanter for Zavilovski in the joyous kindness of those people; but he was confused again when Marynia said, —