Whirlpools

"More about the neighborhood of Rome, than Rome itself," said Gronski.

"Yes. I was in Tivoli. I was in Castel Gandolfo, in Nemi. Wonders! I will tease Zosia until in truth we will go there and Pan Gronski with us."

"Will you take me along?" asked Miss Anney.

"Of course! We will all go in the autumn or next spring. Did you folks also talk about a trip?"

For a time there was no response.

"No," Miss Anney finally replied. "We were talking about birds of flight."

"Why, now it is spring and birds do not fly away."

"Nevertheless, you ladies are making preparations for flying away," answered Ladislaus with a sigh.

"True," rejoined Marynia; "but that is because Aunt is going away; and she" – here she pointed at Miss Anney with her riding whip-"has urged us all three to go where the doctor is sending Aunt."

After which she said to Ladislaus:

"You would not believe, sir, how honest she is and how she loves Aunt."

"I, not believe? I?" cried Ladislaus with ardor.

But Miss Anney, who a short time before had asked him whether one could fall in love so soon, became greatly confused and, dropping the reins, began with both hands to set something right on her hat, wishing to cover with them her countenance which glowed like the dawn.

Ladislaus had heaven in his heart, and Marynia, for some time, gazed with her pellucid eyes, now at him and then at Miss Anney, for it was no secret to her that Krzycki was in love up to his ears, and this aroused her curiosity and amused her indescribably.

XII

"See what I received to-day," said Ladislaus, handing Gronski a letter which came with others in the morning mail.

Gronski glanced at it and knit his brow.

"Ah!" he said, "a death sentence."

"Yes."

"With the seal of the P. P. S. They are distributing them quite prodigally."

"Yes, just like the opposite party."

"Both are alike. The notary also has one and the doctor several. What do you think of it?"

"Je m'en fiche! But the situation amuses me. I do not know whether you have heard that the Provincial guards have unearthed a secret school in Jastrzeb, which I founded a year ago because my conscience commanded me to. It is a case which I greased but have not yet greased sufficiently. As a result, I now have suspended over me the fists of the authorities and the fists of the socialists. Enjoyable, is it not?"

"It has often occurred to me that elsewhere people could not live under such conditions, and we not only live but laugh quite merrily."

"For such is our sinewy Lechite nature."

"Perhaps that is so. You must, nevertheless, be on your guard and it will be necessary to send the ladies away."

"It will be necessary, it will be necessary," repeated Ladislaus. "And abroad too, for it is unsafe in Warsaw. But please do not say anything about this foolish sentence to Mother or any one else."

"Certainly."

"Mother positively insists upon my accompanying her, and I do not try to shun that-oh, no, not in the least! But summer is approaching and after that there will be the harvest. The overseer is an honest man but before my departure I must give him some specific instructions how and what he is to do. After they all leave, I would like to stay yet for a week or ten days. Mother will not be alone and without care, as in the first place the younger members of the family will be with her, and again you heard Cousin Marynia say that the ladies will go wherever Mother would be. Through all my life I will ever be grateful to Miss Anney for that proposal; for to Mother nothing could be better or more agreeable."

"And for her son also, it seems to me," said Gronski, laughing.

Ladislaus remained silent for a time; after which he began to press the palms of his hands on his temples and replied:

"Yes. For why should I deny that which I confessed to myself and which everybody sees but Mother, who has not observed it because she seldom saw us together. But she also has fallen in love with Miss Anney. Who would not love her? Such a dear, golden creature. I have not, as yet, said anything to Mother because she has her mind set upon Pani Otocka and it will be unpleasant for her to give up the thought. I fear she might be offended. After all, I only know what is taking place within me, and nothing more. I dare not even say that I have any reasons for my illusion. I fear that it may all at once burst like a soap-bubble. Ah! How unhappy I would be. Already I cannot see anything in this world beyond her. Candidly speaking, I do not know what to do with myself, Jastrzeb, and life."

And grasping Gronski's hand, he continued:

"If you would only speak with Pani Otocka and ascertain from her whether I may have hope; for they are friends and certainly do not keep any secrets from each other. If you would only do this for me; and in due time speak with Mother! But with Pani Otocka as soon as possible! Will you do it?"

"I have spoken with Pani Otocka about that," replied Gronski, "but what, do you suppose, she answered? That she could not tell me anything as Miss Anney confided to her a certain personal secret which she was not at liberty to divulge. I admit that this surprised me. In reality, the secret cannot be anything derogatory to Miss Anney, as otherwise Pani Otocka would not be on such cordial and intimate terms with her. They are like sisters, and in Warsaw they lived together, almost door to door. After all, Pani Otocka, it seemed to me, was sincerely in your favor and, at times, I received the impression that she was concerned in having matters come to the pass which they have. As for Marynia, she wriggles her little ears and with that it ends. In any case, be assured that you have not enemies in those ladies and, if you want to know my personal views, much less in Miss Anney."

"Would to God! Would to God!" answered Ladislaus. "You have given me a little encouragement and I breathe more easily."

"But you, I see, have fallen unto your ears," observed Gronski.

"I give you my word that I prefer one of her fingers or the ray of her hair to all the women in the world. I never had a conception that one could thus surrender himself. At times I do not know what is happening to me or what will occur, for only think: I have Jastrzeb, the estate, the Rzeslewo affairs, Mother's departure, and here I cannot think of anything but her-but her-and to nothing else can I apply my mind. I regret every moment in which I do not gaze upon her. To-day, for instance, I received a summons from the Directory to come in reference to the will and Rzeslewo, and I postpone the matter until tomorrow. I cannot-plainly-I cannot! I would go at night were it not that the Directory is closed for the night."

"Remember, however, the death sentence."

"May the devil take them with their sentence, or let them finally shoot me in the head. I would still be thinking of her, especially after what you have told me. But how do you know that Pani Otocka is in my favor? Those are honest, golden hearts, both of those cousins! How did you say it? That they are not my enemies? Thank God, even for that! For, why should they hate me? But please speak with Pani Otocka again. I am not concerned about her betraying any secret but only that, knowing Miss Anney, she should say something one way or the other-you know what I want-certainty-even though a morsel-"

"Certainly," said Gronski, laughing, "I will seek an opportunity to-day."

"Thank you! Thank you!"

In fact an opportunity was easily found, as Pani Otocka also had some news which she desired to impart to Gronski, and with this object she sent her maid to him with an invitation to meet her on the yoked elm walk, near the pond. When they met there she gave him, just as Ladislaus had done a while before, a letter which arrived in the same morning's mail and said:

"Please read it and advise me what to do with it."

It was a letter from Laskowicz to Marynia and its tenor was as follows:

"A great idea is like a gigantic bird: her wings cast a shadow over the earth, while she hovers in the sun.

"Whoever does not fly upwards with her is surrounded by darkness.

"And darkness is death.

"In that darkness, I behold Thee, like an alabaster statuette. This night the sounds of thy music reach me.

"And lo, in my lonely chamber I think of Thee and grieve for Thee.

"For Thou couldst be a beam-feather in the wings of this gigantic bird idea and inhale the pure air of the dizzy heights and play in glory to the legions of the living; and Thou breathest the air of tombs and playest to a life which is moribund and to souls that wither; and not to people but to ghosts.

"I grieve for Thee, my silvery one.

"And my thoughts fly to Thee like eagles.

"For heretofore there was imbedded in my strength a part of human happiness but there was not in it my own happiness.

"Now Thou suddenly glidest before my eyes like a light, and through my ears like music, and hast filled my bosom with a yearning for things I had not known before, and hast filled me with Thine own indispensable quintessence and a consciousness of my happiness.

"Therefore I loved Thee the same night when I beheld Thee and heard Thee for the first time.

"Henceforth, though Thou are not near me, I am with Thee and will follow wherever Thou wilt be.

"For Thou art necessary to my existence and I am to Thee, in order to resuscitate Thee.

"In order to snatch Thee from destruction; from amidst those who are about to die.

"In order to surrender Thee to the great idea, and the exalted, and the light, and the living hosts who suffer from a dearth of bread and music.

"Thee and Thy music.

"May extermination not fail upon you both.

"Oh, beloved one.

"A certain night I summoned Thee but Thou didst not hear me and didst not come. Now I extend my hands towards Thee and say unto Thee: Come and slumber in my heart.

"And when the time of awakening comes, I will wake Thee for a brief moment of pleasure, which love gives for the toil without an end and which the idea demands.

"For toil and perchance for martyrdom.

"But in that martyrdom for the dawn of a new life, there is greater happiness than in the dusk, mephitic air, ashes and mould of graves.

"Therefore come even for martyrdom.

"And until our existence floats into the sea of nothingness, abide with me.

"Oh, beloved one."

Gronski's countenance reflected perturbation. For a time he and Pani Otocka walked in silence.

"What shall I do with this, and what does it mean?"

"This is a disagreeable and vexatious matter, and the letter means that Laskowicz, who never in his life saw a being like Marynia, has fallen in love with her from the first acquaintance, as he himself says. I observed that after a few days and if I did not say anything to you about it, it was because Laskowicz was soon to leave. But he has fallen in love with his head and not his heart, for otherwise, instead of high-flown expressions, borrowed, as it were, from some school of literature, he would have found simpler and more sincere words. His exaltation may be sincere, it may waste and destroy him like a fever; it may last for whole years, but its chief source is the head and not the heart."

But Pani Otocka, who at the moment was not in the least interested in an analysis of Laskowicz's feelings, interrupted a further disquisition:

"But what are we to do, in view of this? How are we to act? It is about Marynia that I am concerned."

"You are right," answered Gronski. "Pardon my untimely reflections, but it is always better to know with whom and with what one has to do. My opinion is that it would be best not to do anything, just as if this letter had not arrived. You may return it to Laskowicz, but that would be exceedingly contemptuous: this letter deserves, perhaps, to be thrown into a fireplace, but in my opinion it does not merit contempt. It is, if you will permit me to thus express myself, nervous and insolent, but it preserves a certain measure in its expressions and there is nothing brutal in it. Besides it expresses rather the thoughts which came to Laskowicz's mind than any actual hopes, and to that extent it might be explained to Marynia that this is not a letter to her but a poem for her, not quite felicitously conceived. And Marynia? What impression did it make upon her and what does she say?"

"Marynia," answered Pani Otocka with a certain comic uneasiness, "is a little offended, a little worried and frightened, but in the innermost recesses of her heart, she is a little proud that somebody should have written such a letter to her."

"Oh, I was certain of that," exclaimed Gronski, laughing involuntarily.

After a while he began to speak seriously.

"No doubt other letters will come and as these maybe more glaring, we will have to persuade the little one that she should not read them. If you will permit, I will undertake that, after which, you ladies ought to go to Warsaw, and, in a short time, journey abroad and the matter will end of itself."

"To tell the truth," responded Pani Otocka, "I want to leave Jastrzeb as soon as possible. We are not necessary for Aunt but are rather a hindrance in the preparations for her departure, and I confess that I am possessed by fear. Please read that letter again carefully. Why, there are threats there against all the residents of Jastrzeb and even against Marynia if she stays with us."

Gronski thought of Ladislaus receiving at the same time a death sentence, and in the first moments it occurred to him that it might have some connection with Laskowicz's letter. But after a while he recollected that similar sentences were sent to the doctor and even the aged notary: therefore to pacify Pani Otocka, he said:

"These are times of continual menaces and everybody receives them, but I do not think that Laskowicz intended to warn Marynia of any imminent attack threatening us in Jastrzeb. He undoubtedly wished to say that the waves of socialism will sweep away all who do not float with it, and therefore us. But as the peace of yourself and Marynia is involved, as to leaving, why of course! Why should we not leave even to-morrow?"

"I already thought of that, but Aunt urged us to wait for her and Aninka promised her that."

"Then let her remain, and you ladies leave. Ah, so Miss Anney delays the departure? Good news for Laudie! May I tell him that? A while ago, he begged me to learn something from you, – for the poor fellow barely lives. He is the most love-sick swain within the boundaries of the Commonwealth."

"So it has gone as far as that?"

"It has! Evidently there is something inflammatory in the atmosphere of Jastrzeb. Here everybody falls in love, either openly or in secret."

Hearing this, Pani Otocka unexpectedly blushed like a fifteen-year-old girl, and though this happened often and upon the most trivial provocation, Gronski being unable to surmise what had passed through her mind, looked at her with a certain wonder.

"How then?" he said. "There are Laudie, Laskowicz, and Dolhanski. But Dolhanski has the most energy, for, after his latest repulse, he immediately decamps upon a new expedition, while Laudie fears."

"What?" asked Pani Otocka, raising her eyes.

"First, a repulse from which he thinks he could not recover, and, again, a discussion with his mother which awaits him."

"Perhaps something else awaits Cousin Laudie, but he need not fear about Aninka."

"He will die from joy when I tell him that, but in my way, I, who am known to you as a meddler, could die from curiosity."

"What of it, when I have no right to speak about it?"

"Not even when we leave Jastrzeb?"

"Not even then. After all, everything will soon clear up."

"In such case, I have procured enough for the nonce, and in the meanwhile I will return to Laudie to tell him the good news and apprise him of our departure. I will not mention anything about Laskowicz's letter, for tomorrow he will set off for the city and, if they met, a nasty encounter might result."

XIII

Ladislaus, however, did not go to the city on the day following his conversation with Gronski, for he was notified that the meeting of the executors of Zarnowski's will was postponed for one week. The reason for this was that in two days a convention of the citizens of the vicinity was to commence in reference to providing insurance for the superannuated rural officials and manor-servants, and also in regard to the more burning question of introducing the Polish language into the communes, – a question in which the communal justices as well as the villagers were interested. Ladislaus determined, by all means, to participate in these debates, but as they were to take place in the forenoons, he formulated a plan of going to them every morning and returning home in the afternoon. In view of the proximity of Jastrzeb to the city, this plan was quite feasible.

However, he was disappointed in the hope that he could devote those two days exclusively to the guests, or rather to the most precious of guests in Jastrzeb, as the disorders in Rzeslewo broke out with renewed virulence and they required almost all his time. The strike of the manor help, indeed, ceased so completely that the intervention, which Dolhanski advised, became superfluous and it was necessary to restrain it. But in the meantime individual tenants and some of the husbandmen began to commit depredations in the forest. Ladislaus, at the head of the local and Jastrzeb foresters, sought these disorderly persons, who, indeed, hid at the sight of him: nevertheless they assumed a very threatening attitude towards the servants, promising to all swift vengeance. The foresters received bulky letters, assuring them "that they would get a bullet in the head, and the heir also would." But the heir, who was not wanting in youthful energy and was not averse to adventure, did not at all neglect the defence of the Rzeslewo forests, and, what was more, he personally rushed over to Rzeslewo and summoning the malefactors, declared that he would invoke courts and punishment.

And afterwards, he repaired at the designated time to the conference. It was to be the last day of the sojourn in Jastrzeb of Pani Otocka, Marynia, and Gronski, who decided to leave on the following day for Warsaw. Miss Anney, at Pani Krzycki's solicitation, agreed to remain for a few days, and leave with her. Ladislaus announced that he would return as soon as possible in order to spend the evening with all of them and to listen for the last time to Marynia's bewitching violin. He also said that he would induce the notary and the doctor to come with him.

As a result, they waited dinner for them. In the meantime, about four o'clock, Gronski sat in his room writing a letter to Dolhanski, Marynia, upstairs, played her daily exercises, Pani Otocka sat with the patient, and Miss Anney went out on the balcony, ostensibly to photograph the old and lofty trees which enclosed the courtyard on two sides, but in reality to see whether he, whom they expected at home, was returning. So instead of photographing, she began to lose her sight and soul in the shady depths of the old linden roadway. Hope that soon she would behold in that depth a cloud of dust, horses, and carriages, and that afterwards the lively form of a youth would leap out, filled her with a quiet joy. Lo, after a while she would see before her that countenance, stately, sympathetic, and sincere; those eyes, whose every glance spoke to her a hundred times more than the lips, and would hear that voice which penetrated to her heart and thrilled it like music. At this thought, Miss Anney was encompassed with such sweet, calm feeling, as if she were a child and as if some loved hand were lightly rocking her to sleep; as if she were resting in a boat, which the gentle waves bore somewhere into a distance, unknown, but radiant. To permit herself to be rocked, to allow herself to be borne, to confide in the waves, to not think, for the time being, of where the boat will stop, – this was all that the heart of the maiden, at such moments, desired. But at other moments, when she propounded to herself the question, "What will happen further?" she looked with faith into the future. Sometimes when sleep refused to close her eyes, there flitted through her mind, like dark butterflies, uncertainties and fears, but even then she said to herself that the heaven may become cloudy in the future, but at present she was enjoying charming, fair weather, and every day was like a flower, and she plucked those flowers, one after another and laid them upon her bosom. So she thought that for this it was worth while to live and even to die.

And at that moment, though her soul was dissolving in the sun, in the serene atmosphere, in the rustle of leaves and in the great pastoral calm, flooded with light, she had no desire to die, for it seemed to her that, with the air, she inhaled joyful appeasement. Everything about her began to lose the mark of reality and change into an azure vision of happiness, half dreamy, half wakeful. From this revery she was aroused by the sight, awaiting which she had sat for almost an hour on the balcony. Lo, at the uttermost end of the roadway her eagerly desired cloud of dust appeared and it approached with unusual rapidity. Miss Anney recollected herself. In the first moments she wanted to retire. "It is necessary, it is necessary," she said to herself, "otherwise he will be apt to think that I was waiting for him." And she would have been sincerely indignant had any one suggested to her that such was the case. But suddenly her knees became so weak that she sat again, clutching the camera in order that it might appear that when found on the balcony she was taking photographs. In the meantime the cloud drew nearer the gates of entry, continuing with the same speed. Soon in harmony with the picture which the maiden had previously formed, the gray heads of the fore horses emerged from the dust. Like lightning, an impression of joy shook Miss Anney. "How he is flying and how anxious he is!" But immediately afterwards, as she began to wonder at the amazing speed, she thought that the horses were frightened. They were already so close to the gates that she could perceive the wind-tossed manes, the distended bloody nostrils and the frantic motions of the horses' feet. Suddenly she rose and her eyes reflected horror, for she observed that the coachman sat, bent so that only the top of his head could be seen-without a cap. In the meantime the intractable horses dashed through the gate; at the winding, the coachman fell off and the carriage with slightly diminished speed swung in a semi-circle along the border of the flower-bed. In the carriage, on the rear seat, Ladislaus sat alone, with his head tilted upwards and propped upon a carriage cushion. A cry of terror escaped from Miss Anney's breast. The horses, in the twinkle of an eye, reached the balcony and being accustomed to stop before it, implanted their hoofs in the ground. Ladislaus moved and, pale as a corpse, with blood streaming over his collar and coat sleeves, staggered from the carriage; when the maiden hurried towards him, he cried, grasping the air with his mouth:

"Nothing!.. I am wounded, but it is nothing!"

And he toppled to the ground at her feet.

And she, in a moment raised him with a strength, amazing in a woman, and supporting him with her arms and breast, began to shriek:

"Save him! Help! Help!"

PART SECOND

I

When Miss Anney raised the wounded young man, the household servants were in the other part of the house. Nearest to her-for they were in the vestibule playing billiards-were Pani Zosia and Marynia. These ladies rushed upon the balcony and, seeing Miss Anney supporting the disabled youth, emulating her example, began to shout at the top of their voices. She, in the meantime, placed him upon a bench on the balcony and enclosing him in her arms, called for water. Both sisters hurried to the sideboard for it and alarmed the whole house. Gronski and everything living collected there. In the first moments Gronski lost his head and when he recovered his senses he sent Pani Otocka to Ladislaus' mother to apprise her of the occurrence. In the meanwhile Miss Anney ordered the servants to carry the wounded man. She, herself, was compelled for a while to attend to her maid, who at the sight of Ladislaus, began to scream and then fell into hysterical convulsions. Gronski hastened to the stable to dispatch horses for the doctor.