Children of the Soil

“With ready money in thy pocket?”

“With ready money in my pocket, and in plenty. I have enough of law. Of course, whoso came from the country is drawn to it. That is inherited with the blood. But enough of this matter, for the present. To-morrow, as I told thee, I am going away; and I recommend my wife to thee, all the more that Pani Kraslavski has gone just now to an oculist in Vienna. I am going besides to the Osnovskis’ to ask them too to remember her.”

“Of course we shall think of her,” said Pan Stanislav. Then the conversation with Marynia occurred to him, and he asked, —

“Thy acquaintance with the Osnovskis is of long standing?”

“Rather long, though my wife knows them better. He is a very rich man; he had one sister who died, and a miserly uncle, after whom he received a great fortune. As to her, what shall I say to thee? she read when still unmarried all that came to her hand; she had pretensions to wit, to art, – in a word, to everything to which one may pretend, – and in her way fell in love with Kopovski: here she is for thee in toto.”

“And Pani Bronich and Panna Castelli?”

“Panna Castelli pleases women rather than men; moreover, I know nothing of her, except that it is said that this same Kopovski tried for her, or is trying now, but Pani Bronich – ”

Here Mashko began to laugh. “Pani Bronich the Khedive conducted in person over the pyramid of Cheops; the late Alphonso of Spain said every day to her in Cannes, ‘Bon jour, Madame la Comtesse.’ In the year 56, Musset wrote verses in her album, and Moltke sat with her on a trunk in Karlsbad, – in one word, she has been at every coronation. Now, since Panna Castelli has grown up, or rather luxuriated up to five feet and some inches, Aunt ‘Sweetness’ makes those imaginary journeys, not on her own account, but her niece’s, in which for some time past Pani Osnovski helps her so zealously that it is difficult to understand what her object is. This is all, unless it is thy wish to know something of the late Pan Bronich, who died six years ago, it is unknown of what disease, for Pani Bronich finds a new one every day for him, adding, besides, that he was the last of the descendants of Rurik, not stating, however, that the second last descendant – that is, his father – was manager for the Rdultovskis, and made his property out of them. Well, I have finished, – ‘Vanity fair!’ Be well, keep well, and in case of need count on me. If I were sure that such a need would come quickly, I would make thee promise to turn to no one but me. Till we meet!”

When he had said this, Mashko pressed his friend’s hand with indescribable kindness; and when he had gone, Pan Stanislav, shrugging his shoulders, said, —

“Such a clever man apparently, and doesn’t see the very same vanity in himself that he is laughing at in others! How different he was such a little while ago! He had almost ceased to pretend; but when trouble passed, the devil gained the upper hand.”

Here he remembered what Vaskovski had said once about vanity and playing a comedy; then he thought, —

“And still such people have success in this country.”

CHAPTER XLIII

Pani Osnovski forgot her “Florentine-Roman” evenings so thoroughly that she was astonished when her husband reminded her once of them. Such evenings are not even in her head now; she has other occupations, which she calls “taming the eagle.” If any one does not see that the eagle and Lineta are created for each other, then, with permission of my husband and lord, he has very short sight; but there is no help for that. In general, men fail to understand many things, for they lack perception. Zavilovski may be an exception in this regard; but if Marynia Polanyetski would tell him, through friendship, to dress with more care and let his beard grow, it would be perfect! “Castelka”[9 - Familiar for Castelli.] is so thoroughly æsthetic that the least thing offends her, though on the other hand he carries her away, – nay, more, he hypnotizes her simply. And with her nature that is not wonderful.

Pan Osnovski listened to this chattering, and, dissolving from ecstasy, watched the opportunity to seize his wife’s hands, and cover them, and her arms to the elbow, with kisses; once, however, he put the perfectly natural question, which Pan Stanislav too had put to Marynia, —

“Tell me what concern thou hast in this?”

But Pani Aneta said coquettishly, —

“La reine s’amuse! It is not a trick to write books. If there be only a little talent, that’s enough; but to bring into life that which is described in books is a far greater trick, and, besides, what amusement!”

And after a while she added, —

“I may have some personal object; and if I have, let Yozio guess it.”

“I’ll tell it in thy ear,” answered Osnovski.

She put out her ear with a cunning mien, blinking her violet eyes with curiosity. But Osnovski only brought his lips to her ear to kiss it; for the whole secret he repeated simply, —

“La reine s’amuse!”

And there was truth in this. Pani Aneta might have her own personal object in bringing Zavilovski near “Castelka;” but in its own way that development of a romance in life and the rôle of a little Providence occupied and amused her immensely.

With these providential intentions she ran in often to Marynia, to learn something of the “eagle,” and returned in good spirits usually. Zavilovski, wishing to lull Marynia’s suspicions, spoke more and more of Lineta; his diplomacy turned out so effectual that once, when Pani Aneta inquired of Marynia directly if Zavilovski were not in love with her, she answered, laughing, —

“We must confess that he is in love, my Anetka, but not with me, nor with thee. The apple is adjudged to Lineta, and nothing is left to us but to cry or be comforted.”

On the other hand, feelings and thoughts were talked into and attributed continually to Lineta which self-love itself would not let her deny. From morning till evening she heard that this “eagle” of wide wings was in love with her; that he was at her feet; and that such a chosen one, such an exceptional being, as she was, could not be indifferent to this. It flattered her also too much to make it possible for her to be indifferent. While painting Kopovski, she admired always, it is true, the “splendid plain surfaces” on his face, and liked him because he offered her a field for various successes, which were repeated later as proofs of her wit and cleverness; she liked him for various reasons. Zavilovski, too, was not an ill-looking man, though he did not wear a beard, and did not dress with due care. Besides, so much was said of his wings, and of this, – that a soul such as hers should understand him. All said this, not Pani Aneta only. Pani Bronich, who, on a time, did not understand how any one could avoid falling in love with herself, transferred later on to her niece this happy self-confidence, and accepted the views of Pani Aneta, ornamenting at the same time the canvas of reality with flowers from her own mind. At last Pan Osnovski, too, joined the chorus. Out of love for his wife, he loved “Castelka” and Pani Bronich, and was ready to love whatever had remote or near relation to “Anetka,” hence he took the matter seriously. Zavilovski was for him sympathetic; the information which he collected touching him was favorable. In general, he learned only that he was misanthropic, ambitious, and pursued stubbornly whatever he aimed at; besides, he was secretive, and greatly gifted. Since all this pleased the ladies, Osnovski began to think with perfect seriousness “if that were not well.” Zavilovski justified so far the serious view of affairs, – he had begun for some time to visit more frequently the “common drawing-room,” and to speak oftener with Lineta. The first, it is true, he did always at the cordial invitation of Pani Aneta, but the other flowed from his will. Pani Aneta noticed, also, that his glance rested more and more on the golden hair and the dreamy lids of “Castelka,” and his eyes followed her when she passed through the drawing-room. Indeed, he began to survey her more carefully, a little through diplomacy, a little through curiosity.

The affair became much more important when the first volume of his poetry was issued. The poems had won attention already and were much spoken of; but the effect was weakened through this, – that they had appeared at considerable intervals, and unconnected. Now the book struck people’s eyes; it was brilliant, strong, sincere. The language had freshness and metallic weight, but still bent obediently, and assumed the most subtile forms. The impression increased. Soon the murmur of praise changed to a roar filled with admiration. With the exaggeration usual in such cases, the work was exalted above its value, and in the young poet people began to foresee the coming heir of great glory and authority; his name passed from newspaper offices to publicity. People spoke of him everywhere, were occupied with him, sought him; curiosity became the greater that he was little known personally. The old rich Zavilovski, Panna Helena’s father, who said that the two greatest plagues existing were perhaps the gout and poor relatives, repeated now to every one who asked him, “Mais oui, mais oui, – c’est mon cousin;” and such testimony had also its social weight for many persons, and, among others, weight of first order for Pani Bronich. Pani Aneta and Lineta ceased even to suffer because of the pin of “poor taste” in Zavilovski’s necktie, for now everything about him might pass as original. She was pained yet that his name was Ignatsi. They would have preferred another more in keeping with his fame and his poetry; but when Osnovski, who from Metz had brought home a little Latin, explained to them that it meant “fiery,” they answered that if that were true, it was another thing; and they were reconciled with Ignatsi.

Sincere and great joy reigned at Bigiel’s, at Pan Stanislav’s, and in the counting-house, because the book had won such fame; they were not envious in the counting-house. The old cashier, the agent, and the second book-keeper were proud of their colleague, as if his glory had brightened the counting-house also. The cashier even said, “But we have shown the world what our style is!” Bigiel was thinking for two days whether in view of all this Zavilovski should remain in a modest position in the house of Polanyetski and Bigiel; but Zavilovski, when questioned by him, answered, —

“This is very good of you, kind sir. Because people are talking a little about me, you want to take my morsel of bread from me, and my pleasant associates. I found no publishers; and had it not been for your book-keeper, I could not have published the volume.”

To such an argument there was no answer, and Zavilovski remained in the counting-house. But he was a more frequent guest both at Bigiel’s and at Pan Stanislav’s. At the Osnovskis’ he had not shown himself for a whole week after the volume was published, just as if something had happened. But Pani Bigiel and Marynia persuaded him to go; he had a secret desire, too, – hence one evening he went.

But he found the company just going to the theatre. They wished to remain at home absolutely, but he would not consent; and to the evident delight of Pani Osnovski and Lineta, it ended in this, – that he went with them. “Let Yozio buy a ticket for a chair if he wishes.” And Yozio took a ticket for a chair. During the play Zavilovski sat in the front of the box with Lineta, for Pani Aneta had insisted that Pani Bronich and she would play “mother” for them. “You two can say what you please; and if any one comes, I will so stun him that he’ll not have power to trouble you.” The eyes of people were turned frequently to that box when it was known who were sitting there, and Lineta felt that a kind of halo surrounded her; she felt that people not only were looking at him, but at the same time inquiring, “Whose is that head with golden hair and dreamy lids, to whom he is inclining and speaking?” She, on her part, looking at him sometimes, said to herself, “Were it not for the too prominent chin, he would be perfectly good-looking; his profile is very delicate, and a beard might cover his chin.” Pani Aneta carried out her promise nobly; and when Kopovski appeared, she occupied him so much that he could barely greet Lineta, and say to Zavilovski, —

“Ah, you write verses!”

After this happy discovery he succeeded in adding, but rather as a monologue, “I should like verses immensely; but, a wonderful thing, the moment I read them I think of something else right away.”

Lineta, turning her face, cast a long glance at him; and it is unknown which was stronger in this glance, the maliciousness of the woman, or the sudden admiration of the artist, for that head without brains, which, issuing from the depth of the box, seemed, on the red background of the wall, like some masterly thought of an artist.

After the theatre, Pani Aneta would not let Zavilovski go home; and all went to drink tea. Hardly had they reached the house, when Pani Bronich began to make reproaches.

“You are an evil man; and if anything happens to Lineta, it will be on your conscience. The child doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep; she only reads you, and reads.”

Pani Aneta added immediately, —

“True! I, too, have cause of complaint: she seized your book, and will not give it to any one for an instant; and when we are angry, do you know what she answers? ‘This is mine! this is mine!’”

And Lineta, though she had not the book in her hands at that moment, pressed them to her bosom, as if to defend something, and said in a low, soft voice, —

“For it is mine, mine!”

Zavilovski looked at her and felt that something had, as it were, thrilled in him. But on returning home late he passed by Pan Stanislav’s windows, in which light was still shining. After the theatre and conversation at the Osnovskis’ he felt a certain turning of the head. Now the sight of those windows brought him to himself; he felt suddenly such a pleasant impression as one experiences on thinking of something very good and very dear. His immense, pure homage for Marynia arose in him with its former power: he was possessed by that kind of mild exaltation in which the desires fall asleep, and a man becomes almost entirely a spirit; and he returned home, muttering passages from the poem “Lilia,” the most full of exaltation of any which he had written in his life yet.

There was light at Pan Stanislav’s because something had happened, which seemed to Marynia that mercy of God expected and hoped for.

In the evening, after tea, she was sitting breaking her head, as usual, over daily accounts, when she put the pencil down on a sudden. After a while she grew pale, but her face became clear; and she said, with a voice slightly changed, —

“Stas!”

Her voice surprised him somewhat; therefore he approached her, and asked, —

“What is the matter? Thou art a little pale.”

“Come nearer; I’ll tell thee something.”

And, taking his head with her hands, she whispered into his ear, and he listened; then, kissing her on the forehead, he said, —

“Only be not excited, lest thou hurt thyself.”