Complete works of henryk.., p.768
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz, page 768
Formerly his character had that calm depth which concealed everything; to-day he boiled up. From passionate outbursts he passed frequently to melancholy and indifferent sentimentalism; he remembered how once he used to ridicule this in others, how he sneered without pity, how he despised even sentimentalism. Augustinovich knew this best of all.
A certain time (about a month after the breaking with Lula) Augustinovich, waking up late in the night, saw Yosef dressed yet and sitting with a book. The clock in the silent night told the fleeting moments untiringly. A lamp burnt with a clear, bright flame, and by its light the ruddy side whiskers and pale face of Yosef were outlined clearly on the black cover of the chair. He was sitting with head bent back and closed eyes, but he was not sleeping, his raised brows and the color of his face testified to this. His face had an expression of unspeakable bliss; some kind of dream, like a golden butterfly, was sitting on his brain and melting into misty mildness the sharp lines of his features.
Augustinovich looked at him carefully, then rose in the bed silently with a face full of indignation and anger. “What is he doing?” thought he. “Thou art tempting thyself! May I be hanged if I don’t throw a pillow at thy head. Thou booby! Yes, I will throw the pillow! break the lamp — Hei!”
He had finished in a moment these warlike preparations, and was making ready to give the terrible blow, when he pushed under the blanket quickly; Yosef opened his eyes.
“I am curious to know what will happen now,” muttered Augustinovich, pretending to sleep like a dead man. Meanwhile his astonishment grew in earnest.
Yosef looked at him suspiciously, then looked around like a criminal; finally he pulled out a drawer of the table and searched in it for some object.
“Ei! if he only does not want to shoot himself in the head, or poison himself,” thought Augustinovich, terrified.
But Yosef had no thought of shooting or poisoning himself. The object which he drew forth was a glove. One small yellow wrinkled glove. Ei! a poor little memorial, a historical gift with which one says remember me. Addio! addio! caro mio! Remember me. Yosef, like that Emrod of old, would have gone for the glove “among two leopards and a tiger for it,” but the question remained as to whether he went away after that and never returned. In point of stupidity the centuries agree oftener than in sound judgment.
Yosef raised the glove to his lips.
“Be ashamed, old man!” roared Augustinovich.
In truth, there was something humiliating in this, and afterward Yosef was greatly ashamed of his act. Next morning he went out before daylight to avoid Augustinovich, who was seriously angry and indignant. It seemed to him that he had been deceived in Yosef.
“That dunce,” said he, “is like others.” This idea roused that distaste in him which we feel usually on beginning to lose regard for a man whom we have thus far respected.
More important still was it that after that event Augustinovich grew convinced that Yosef would return to Lula. “Let the other die or go mad,” said he of the widow. “They will take each other, let her die — Ei, let her die” (Augustinovich always tried to persuade himself that he did not like women), “there will be one less of them. Yosef will go back to Lula, he will.”
He meditated then whether to tell Lula that Yosef was to marry, or not; in the end he resolved to be silent.
“But Helena is nothing to me. He will return to Lula; if I tell her everything it will be too late — it will be too late! Oh, ho, ho! But Helena too will lose, for again it will be too late. Yes, yes, I should not be able to correct the one, and should spoil the other. I shall say nothing, I will be silent — I will be silent.”
He preferred Helena to Lula, a hundred times, and from his soul he preferred that Yosef should marry Helena; but he cared more for Yosef than for both women, therefore he wished Lula to be free “in every case.” Besides, he considered that come what might, Lula would take Pelski. “Then,” thought he, “I will tell the old man. ‘Dost see,’ I will say to him, ‘I said nothing about Helena, she knew nothing about thy not loving her; still she married Pelski.’”
Finally, he concealed carefully the news of Yosef’s intended marriage, in case that Lula, laughing and happy in view of Yosef’s hypothetical return, should give her hand to Pelski. “Yosef will wish happiness to the lady, I will say ‘Crescite et multiplicamini! He,’ I shall say, pointing to Yosef, ‘has been betrothed this long time; he loves and is loved immensely.’”
CHAPTER XVIII
Days passed, still Yosef did not return to the countess, but Malinka said to Augustinovich, —
“Pelski may offer himself any day to Lula.”
“And if he does not, she may offer herself to him,” answered Augustinovich, with emphasis.
“Oh, that is not true, not true.”
“We shall see.”
“No, Pan Adam. Lula has much womanly pride, and if she should marry Pelski it would be only through that same pride, through anger at Yosef’s indifference. Besides, to tell the truth, Pelski is the only man who loves her, for he is the only one who has remained — on whom she can count.”
“Ah! but evidently she likes to count on some one.”
Malinka was angry.
“She counted once on Pan Yosef; she was deceived. How can you blame her, when he does not come — do you understand? — when he does not come?”
Pan Adam was silent.
“She has been deceived painfully,” continued Malinka, “and believe me, I alone know what that costs her, and though we are not so friendly as before (she rejected me herself), I see often how she suffers. Yesterday I went to her room and found her in tears. ‘Lula!’ asked I, though she withdrew from me, ‘what is the matter with thee?’ ‘Nothing, I suffer from headache,’ said she. ‘My Lula,’ said I, ‘thou hast heartache, not headache!’ I wished to throw myself on her neck, but she pushed me aside, and then stood up with such haughtiness that I was frightened. ‘I was crying from shame,’ said she, firmly. ‘Wilt thou understand, from shame!’ I wished to understand her, but was unable; I only know that the evening of that day I saw her in tears again. And dost thou see?”
“What does all this prove?”
“That it is not easy for her to renounce her idea of Yosef. What has happened that he does not come?”
“But if he should come?”
“She would not marry Pelski.”
“Oh, I ridicule the idea that ‘she would not.’”
“Yes, for you ridicule everything. But Pan Yosef? Is it noble on his part to desert her in this way?”
“Who knows what he intends to do?”
“He ought to know himself,” answered Malinka, decidedly, “and he should not conceal his intentions from her.”
“He has no time, he is working.”
That day, however, Malinka convinced herself that Yosef was not sitting so diligently at home as Augustinovich had represented. While walking with her mother, she met him passing with some young man. He did not notice them. Malinka was almost terrified at his appearance. He seemed to her as pale and crushed as if he had recovered from a grievous illness. “Then he has been sick,” thought she, after returning home. Now she understood why Pan Adam would not explain the absence. “Yosef commanded him not to frighten Lula.” All at once Yosef rose in Malinka’s eyes to the loftiness of an ideal.
Augustinovich came in the evening, as usual. In the drawing-room Pani Visberg and the countess were present.
“Pan Adam,” exclaimed Malinka, “I know why Pan Yosef has not been here for so long a time!”
Lula’s eyes gleamed, but that moment she controlled herself; still her hands trembled imperceptibly.
“The poor man, he must have been very sick; he is as pale as if he had come out of a coffin! Why did you not tell us of this?” asked Pani Visberg, quickly.
“Oh, Pan Adam was afraid that we should speak of it before Lula. Was that nice?” asked Malinka.
“What is the matter with thee, Lula? Art sick?”
“Nothing, nothing! I will come back in a moment.”
Her face was pale, breath failed her. She went out, almost fled to her chamber. Pani Visberg wished to follow her. Malinka detained her gently but decisively.
“Thou must not go, mamma.”
Then she turned to Augustinovich; her voice had a sad and serious sound.
“Pan Adam?”
Augustinovich bit his lips.
“Pan Adam! What is this? ‘Lula is a coquette without a heart,’ is she not?”
“Perhaps I was mistaken,” blurted out Augustinovich; “but — but—”
He did not dare to cough out of himself at the moment that Yosef was going to marry Helena, that he would not come any more.
On returning home he was also afraid to tell Yosef what had happened.
Lula shut herself up in her chamber. Her head was on fire, and thoughts like a garland of sparks and ice were besieging her temples, and in the silence could be heard distinctly her hurried breathing and the throbbing of her heart. Pelski, Malinka, Pan Adam whirled around her in inexplicable chaos, and out of those fragments of thought as out of a grave rose higher and higher the pale, almost lifeless head of Yosef, with closed eyes. “He is sick! he is sick!” repeated she, in a whisper. “He will die, and never come here again.”
Poor Lula interpreted differently from Malinka Yosef’s absence. She judged that he had sacrificed himself for her, — that, not wishing to stand between her and Pelski, he had renounced her, and therefore he suffered so much and was sick. “Still, who told him that I should be happy with Pelski?” whispered she, quietly. “He did not trust me. My God, my God! but could he trust me?”
Memory brought before her as a reproach those moments of gleaming looks, alluring smiles, and velvety words given to Pelski; she remembered also that blush of shame with which she was blazing when Pelski learned that Yosef was the son of a blacksmith. And now she hid her burning face in her hands, but that was shame of another kind. It seemed to her at that moment that if Yosef himself were a blacksmith she would kiss his blackened forehead with delight even; even with perfect happiness would she place her head on his valiant breast, though it were covered with the apron of a blacksmith.
“How dark it is in my eyes! I did not know that I loved him,” said she, trembling and aflame.
Her bosom moved quickly! Again some thought the most tender decked out her forehead with the brightness of an angel; she threw herself on her knees before an image of the Virgin.
“O mother of God!” cried she, aloud, “if any one has to suffer or to die, let me suffer, but preserve and love him, O Most Holy Mother!”
Then she rose in calmness, and was so bright with the light of love that one might have said that a silver lamp was shining in that dark little chamber before the image of the Holy Virgin.
During the two following days Augustinovich did not appear; but Pelski came, and according to Malinka’s previsions, proposed to Lula. Seeing his cousin’s face calm, and smiling with good hope, he expressed to her his hopes and wishes. The more painful was his astonishment when Lula gave him a decisively negative answer.
“I love another,” was the substance of her answer.
Pelski wanted to learn who “that other” was. Lula told him without hesitation; then, as is done usually on such occasions, she offered him her friendship.
But Pelski did not accept the hand extended to him at parting.
“You have taken too much from me, you give me too little, cousin,” whispered he, in a crushed voice. “For the happiness of a lifetime — friendship!!”
But Lula felt no reproach after his departure. She was thinking of something else. This is the bad side of love, that it never thinks of anything but itself. It excludes particulars, but as a recompense includes the whole. Thou feelest that if the world were one man thou wouldst press him to thy bosom and kiss him on the head as a father.
Something like that did Lula feel when she went to Malinka’s chamber after Pelski’s visit. She needed to confess to some one all that lay on her heart.
Malinka was sitting near the window. In the twilight, on the darkened panes, could be seen her mild, thoughtful little face. All at once Lula’s arms were clasped around her neck.
“Is that thou, Lula?” asked she, in a low voice.
“I, Malinka!” answered Lula.
She was sitting on a small stool near Malinka’s feet; she put her head on her knees.
“My kind Malinka, thou art not angry with me now, and dost not despise me?”
Malinka fondled her like a child.
“I was very much to blame as thou seest, but in my own heart I have found myself to-day. How pleasant it is for me here near thee! As formerly we talked long and often — let it be so to-day! Art thou willing?”
Malinka smiled half sadly, half jestingly, and answered, —
“Let it be so to-day, but later it will change. A certain ‘His grace’ will come and take Lula away, and I shall be left alone.”
“But will he come?” inquired Lula, in a very low whisper.
“He will come. The poor man was sick surely from yearning. I did not understand what it meant that Pan Adam would not tell me why he came not; now I understand. Pan Yosef forbade him, he would not terrify thee.”
“I think that he did not wish to hinder Pelski — so unkind of him to do this.”
“But what did Pelski do?”
“I was just going to tell thee. He proposed to me to-day.”
“And what?”
“I refused him, Malinka.”
Silence continued awhile.
“He would not even take my hand when I gave it at parting, but could I do otherwise? I know that I acted very unkindly, very unkindly, but could I act otherwise? I do not love him.”
“Better late than never. Thou didst obey the voice of thy heart. Only with Pan Yosef canst thou be happy.”
“Oh, that is true, true.”
“In a month or so,” continued Malinka, “we shall array Lula in a white robe, weep over Lula the maiden and rejoice over Lula the wife. Thou wilt be happy, he and thou. He must be a good man, since all respect him so much.”
“Do all respect him so much?” repeated Lula, who wanted to laugh and cry at the same moment.
“Oh, yes, mamma fears him even, and I also fear him a little, but I respect him for his character.”
Lula put both hands under her head, and resting on Malinka’s knees, looked into her face with eyes bright from tears.
Meanwhile it grew perfectly dark, then the moon rose, the dogs fell asleep; nothing was to be heard save the whispers of the two maidens filled with fancies by their talk.
All at once they were interrupted by the bell at the entrance.
“Maybe that is he!” cried Lula.
But it was not “he,” for in the first room was heard Augustinovich’s voice, —
“Are the ladies at home?”
“Go, Lula, into that room and hide there,” said Malinka, quickly. “I will tell him how thou didst give the refusal to Pelski, I will beg him to repeat it to Pan Yosef. We shall see if he does not come. Thou mayst listen there.”
The door opened. Augustinovich entered.
CHAPTER XIX
We have said that Augustinovich feared to tell Yosef what had happened at Pani Visberg’s. Lula had deceived his expectations; in spite of aristocracy, in spite of Pelski, she loved the young doctor, since news of his sickness had shocked her to such a degree.
Augustinovich lost his humor and the freedom of thought usual to him. Whether he would or not, he felt respect for Lula, and he felt respect for woman. Ei! that was something so strange in him, so out of harmony with his moral make up, that he could not come into agreement with himself. He had the look of a man caught in a falsehood, and the falsehood was his understanding of woman. He grew very gloomy. Once even (a wonderful thing and strange for him, or forgotten) words were forced from him that were full of painful bitterness: “Oh, if one like her could be met in a lifetime, a man would not be what he is.” He avoided Yosef, he feared him, he hesitated, he wished to confess everything; then again he deferred it till the morrow.
Finally Yosef himself took note of his strange demeanor.
“What is the matter with thee, Adam?” asked he.
“But of Lula he cannot ask!” cried Augustinovich, with comical despair.
Yosef sprang to his feet.
“Of Lula? What does that mean? Speak!”
“It means nothing; what should it mean? Is all this to mean something right away?”
“Augustinovich, thou art hiding something?”
“But the fellow is thinking only of Lula!” cried Augustinovich, with increasing despair.
Yosef with unheard-of effort mastered himself, but that was a calm before a terrible storm. His sunken cheeks grew still paler, his eyes were flaming.
“Well, I will tell thee all!” cried Augustinovich, anticipating the outburst. “I will tell, I will tell! Ei, who will forbid me to tell thee that thou hast won the case! May Satan —— me if thou hast not won. She loves thee.”
Yosef put his trembling hands to his perspiring face.
“But Pelski?” asked he.
“He has not proposed yet.”
“Does she know everything about me?”
“Yosef!”
“Speak!”
“She knows nothing. I told her nothing.”
Yosef’s voice was dull and hoarse when he asked, —
“Why hast thou done me this injustice?”
“I thought that thou wouldst return to her.”
Yosef twisted his hands till the fingers were cracking in their joints; Augustinovich’s last words fell on him like red-hot coals. Return to her? That was to abandon Helena, and did not conscience itself defend Helena’s cause? To return to Lula was to purchase the happiness of a lifetime, but to return to her was to dishonor Helena, to kill her, to become contemptible, to purchase contempt for himself. Oh, misfortune!
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