Children of the Soil

“I knew him little,” said he, “and was prepossessed against him once; but now I grieve for him sincerely, for I know that at heart he was a worthy man.”

“And he loved thee sincerely,” answered Osnovski. “I have proofs of that.”

Pani Bronich, who, during this time, had recovered, declared that those proofs might appear now in their fulness, and that the heart of the deceased would very likely prove itself still greater than they imagined. “Pan Eustachius always loved Nitechka much, and such a man cannot be malicious.” At times he had reminded her – that is, Pani Bronich – of Teodor, and therefore she had become so attached to him. He was, it is true, as abrupt on occasions as Teodor was gentle at all times; but both had that honesty of spirit which the Lord God is best able to value.

Then she turned to “Nitechka,” reminding her that the least emotion would add to the sinking of her heart, and begging her to strive this time not to yield to innate sensitiveness. Pan Ignas, too, with the feeling that a common sorrow had struck him and Lineta for the first time, began to kiss her hands. This state of mind was broken by Kopovski, who said, as if in meditation on the transitory nature of human affairs, —

“I am curious to know what Panna Helena will do with the pipes left by her father.”

In fact, the old noble’s pipes were famous throughout the whole city. Through dislike for cigarettes and cigars, he had in his day made a great collection in his mansion for lovers of the pipe. Kopovski’s anxiety about the pipes was not quieted, however, – first, because at that moment they brought Pan Ignas a letter from Pan Stanislav, containing also intelligence of the old man’s decease, and an invitation to the funeral; secondly, because Osnovski began to advise with his wife about the trip to Yasmen.

It ended in this, – that all were to go at once to the city, where the ladies would set about buying various small articles of mourning, and on the second day, the day of the funeral, they would be in Yasmen. Thus did they do. Pan Ignas, immediately after their arrival, went to his lodgings to carry home things, and prepare a black suit for mourning; and then he went to the Polanyetskis, supposing that they, too, perhaps, had come in from the Bigiels. The servant informed him that his master had been there the day before, but had gone at once to Yasmen, near which place he had hired, or even bought, a house two weeks earlier.

Hearing this, he returned to Osnovski’s villa to spend the evening with his betrothed.

At the entrance, the tones of a waltz by Strauss, coming from the depth of the house, astonished him. Meeting in the next salon Panna Ratkovski, he inquired who was playing.

“Lineta is playing with Pan Kopovski,” answered she.

“Then Pan Kopovski is here?”

“He came a quarter of an hour since.”

“And Pani and Pan Osnovski?”

“They have not returned yet; Aneta is making purchases.”

Pan Ignas, for the first time in his life, felt a certain dissatisfaction with Lineta. He understood that the deceased was nothing to her; still the moment for playing a four-handed waltz with Kopovski seemed inappropriate. He had a feeling that that showed want of taste. Pani Bronich, who did not lack society keenness, divined evidently that impression on his face.

“Nitechka was moved greatly, and worn out,” said she; “and nothing calms her like music. I was much alarmed, for sinking of the heart had begun with her; and when Pan Kopovski came, I myself proposed that they play something.”

They stopped playing; and Pan Ignas’s unpleasant impression disappeared by degrees. There was for him in that villa a multitude of recent and precious remembrances. About dusk he took Lineta’s arm, and they walked through the rooms. They stopped in various places; he called to mind something every moment.

“Dost remember,” asked he, in the studio, “when painting, thou didst take me by the temple to turn my head aside, and for the first time in life I kissed thy hand; and thy words, ‘Talk with aunt’? – I lost not only consciousness, but breath. Thou, my chosen, my dearest!”

And she answered, —

“And how pale thou wert then!”

“It is difficult not to be pale when the heart is dying in one from emotion; and I loved thee beyond memory.”

Lineta raised her eyes, and said after a while, —

“How wonderful all this is!”

“What, Nitechka?”

“That it begins somehow, and begins as if it were a kind of trial, a kind of play; then one goes farther into it, and all at once the trap falls.”

Pan Ignas pressed her arm to his bosom, and said, —

“Ah, yes! it has fallen! I have my bright maiden, and I won’t let her go.”

Then, walking on, they came to the great drawing-room.

Pan Ignas pointed to the glass door, and said, —

“Our balcony, our acacia-tree.”

It grew darker and darker. Objects in the room were sunk in shade; only here and there, on golden picture frames, gleamed points of light, like eyes of some kind gazing at the young couple.

“Dost thou love me?” asked Pan Ignas.

“Thou knowest.”

“Say yes.”

“Yes.”

Then he pressed her arm more, and said with a voice changed through rising emotion, —

“Thou hast no idea, simply, how much happiness is in thee. I give thee my word; thou hast no idea. Thou knowest not how I love thee. I would give my life for thee. I would give the world for one hair of thine. Thou art my world, my life, my all. I should die without thee.”

“Let us sit down,” whispered Lineta; “I am so wearied.”

They sat down, resting against each other, hidden in the dark. A moment of silence followed.

“What is the matter? Thou art trembling all over,” whispered Lineta.

But she too, whether stirred by remembrances, or borne on by his feeling, or by nearness, began to breathe hurriedly, and, closing her eyes, was the first to put her lips forward toward his.

Meanwhile Kopovski was bored evidently in the adjoining room with Panna Ratkovski and Pani Bronich, for at that moment the tones of the waltz which he had played before with Lineta were heard.

When Pan Ignas returned to his own lodgings, the place seemed the picture of sadness and loneliness, a kind of objectless nomad dwelling, after which there will not be one memory; and he thought that that golden “Nitechka” had so wound herself around his heart that in truth he would not live without her, and could not.

The funeral, on the third day, was not numerously attended. The neighboring estates, as lying near the city belonged for the greater part to rich people, who passed the summer season abroad; hence not many of Pan Zavilovski’s acquaintances had remained in the city. But numerous throngs of villagers had assembled, who, crowding into the church, looked at the coffin as if with wonder that a man of such wealth, wading in property, in money and riches, was going into the ground like the first chance peasant who lived in a hut somewhere. Others looked with envy on the young lady to whom “so much wealth” was to fall. And such is human nature that not only peasants, but refined people, distant or near acquaintances of Pan Zavilovski, were unable even during the burial itself to refrain from thinking what that Panna Helena would do with these millions which were left her for the drying of tears. There were some too, who, supposing young Zavilovski as the last relative of that name, the heir of a considerable part of the property, gave themselves in secret the question whether that lucky poet, and millionnaire of the morrow, perhaps, would stop writing verses. And they thought, as if with a certain unexplained satisfaction, that he would probably.

But the chief attention was turned to Panna Helena. All wondered at the resignation with which she bore the loss, – the more painful, since after the death of her father she remained in the world all alone, without relatives nearer than the young poet, and even without friends, concerning whom she had long since ceased to busy herself. She walked after the coffin with a face over which tears were flowing, but which was calm, with that calmness usual to her, but somewhat lifeless and stony. On her return from the church, she spoke of the death of her father as if a number of months at least had passed since it happened. The ladies of Prytulov could not understand that an immense faith was speaking through her; and that in virtue of her faith, that death, in comparison with another, which she had survived, but which had rent her soul, seemed something that was sad, it is true, but at the same time a blessing, pressing out tears of sorrow, but not of despair. In fact, old Pan Zavilovski died very piously, though almost suddenly. From the time of his arrival in Yasmen, he had the habit of confessing twice a week; hence he did not lack religious consolation. He died with the rosary in his hand, in his armchair, having fallen previously into a light sleep, without any suffering; his usual pain having left him a few days before, so that he had even begun to gain the hope of a perfect return of health. Panna Helena, while speaking of this, in her low uniform voice, turned at last to Pan Ignas and said, —

“He mentioned you very often. Perhaps an hour before death he said that if you should come to Buchynek to Pan Polanyetski, to let him know, for he wished to see you without fail. Father loved and esteemed you greatly, greatly.”

“Dear lady,” said Pan Ignas, raising her hands to his lips, “I join you in mourning for him sincerely.”

There was something noble and truthful, as well in his tones as in his words, therefore Panna Helena’s eyes filled with tears; but the weeping of Pani Bronich was so loud that, had it not been for a flask of salts given her by Lineta, it would have passed into a nervous attack, very likely.

But Panna Helena, as if not hearing those sobs, thanked Pan Stanislav for the aid which she had received from him, – he had occupied himself with those cares which the death of a near friend imposes, in addition to their misfortune, on those who are bereaved. He took all that on himself because of his active nature, and because at that juncture he seized every chance to occupy himself with something to deaden his thoughts, and escape from the torturing circle of his own meditations.

Marynia did not go to the grave, for her husband did not wish her exposed to crowding and fatigue, but she kept company with Panna Helena in the house, giving her consolation, as she could. Afterward she wished to take her, with the Prytulov ladies, to Buchynek, and even to keep her there a few days. Pan Stanislav supported this request; but as Panna Helena had her old governess at the mansion, she refused, assuring Marynia that in Yasmen it would not be disagreeable at all to her, and that she did not wish to leave it for the first days especially.