Whirlpools: A Novel of Modern Poland Part 37

Finally Swidwicki asked:

"Ah, esteemed Sir Benefactor, of what party? Socialist, anarchist, or bandit? I beg of you! without ceremony! I do not ask your name, but it is necessary to be acquainted somehow."

"I belong to the Polish Socialist Party," answered the student with a certain pride.

"Aha! Then to the most stupid one. Excellent. That is as if some one said: To the atheistic-Catholic or to the national-cosmopolitan? I am truly delighted to bid you welcome."

Laskowicz was not in the least meek by nature, and besides he understood in a moment that he had before him a man with whom he would gain nothing by meekness; so, gazing straight into Swidwicki's eyes, he replied almost contemptuously:

"If you, sir, can be a Catholic and Pole, I can be a socialist and Pole."

But Swidwicki laughed.

"No, Sir Chieftain," he said, "Catholicism is a smell. One can be a cat and have a fainter or stronger odor, but one cannot be a cat and dog in one and the same person."

"I am no chieftain; only a third-cla.s.s agent," retorted Laskowicz.

"You, sir, have given me a refuge and yourself the right to mock me."

"Exactly, exactly! But for that I shall not require any grat.i.tude. We can, after all, change the subject. Sit down, Sir Third-cla.s.s Agent.

What is new? How is His Majesty, the king."

"What king?"

"Why the one you serve and who to-day has the most courtiers; the one who, most of all, cannot endure the truth and most easily gulps adulation; the one, who in winter smells of whiskey and in summer of sour sweat,--that mangy, lousy, scabby, stinking, gracious, or rather, ungracious ruler of the day. King Rabble."

If Laskowicz had heard the most monstrous blasphemies against a holy object, which heretofore mankind venerated, he would not have been more horrified than at the words which pa.s.sed Swidwicki's lips. For him it was as if he were struck on the head with a club, for it never crossed his mind that any one would have dared to utter anything like that. His eyes became dim, his jaws tightened convulsively, his hands began to tremble. In the first moments he was possessed by an irrepressible desire to shoot Swidwicki in the head with the revolver he carried with him and afterwards slam the door and go wherever his eyes would take him, or else to place the barrel to his ear and shatter his own head, but he lacked the strength. All night long he had toiled in the printing plant; after which he had fled over the roofs and through the streets like a wild animal. He was fatigued, hungry, and exhausted with the frightful experiences of that morning. So he suddenly staggered on his feet, became as pale as a corpse, and would have tumbled upon the ground if a chair had not stood close by, into which he sank heavily, as if dead.

"What is this? What in the devil ails you?" asked Swidwicki.

And he began to a.s.sist him. He poured out of a bottle the remainder of the cognac and forced him to drink it; afterwards he lifted him from the chair and led him to another room and almost forcibly put him in his own bed.

"What the devil!" he repeated; "how do you feel?"

"Better," answered Laskowicz.

Swidwicki glanced at his watch.

"In about ten minutes, the old woman who serves here ought to come. I will order her to bring something to eat. In the meanwhile lie quietly."

Laskowicz obeyed this advice, as he could not do otherwise. Lying there, however, he for a time knit his brow, and evidently his mind was laboring. Then he said:

"That king--about whom you inquired--is--starving--"

"May the devil take him!" replied Swidwicki. "The bourgeoisie will feed him, and for this he at the first opportunity will cut their throats.

But do not take to heart too seriously whatever I say; for I say the same and stronger things to all parties. All! Do you understand, sir?"

The bell interrupted further conversation. Laskowicz trembled like an aspen leaf.

"That is my old woman. I recognize the ring," said Swidwicki. "She is earlier to-day than usual. Very well. I will order her to bring food at once."

In fact, after a quarter of an hour, food was placed on the table.

Refreshed, Laskowicz came entirely to himself and did not think of forsaking his new shelter. Swidwicki began to open and rummage through various drawers. Finally, finding a pa.s.sport, he handed it to Laskowicz and said:

"Before you, Sir Benefactor, become dictator of all Poland you will call yourself Zaranczko. You come from Bessarabia and have served with me a year. If they should catch you and, with you, me, repeat only one expression, '_Mamalyga_,[9] _mamalyga_.'"

In this manner Laskowicz was installed in Swidwicki's home.

XII

The morning after Marynia's birthday was unusually gloomy. The western wind drove heavy black clouds, which hung over the city, foretelling a storm. The atmosphere became oppressive and sultry. When Ladislaus entered the church it was completely dark within. In the Chapel of the Divine Mother a quiet votive ma.s.s commenced almost with his entry, and the flickering little flames of the candles, lighted before the altar, poorly illuminated the darkness. Ladislaus began to search with his eyes for Miss Anney and he recognized her by the light hair protruding from under her hat. She knelt in the first pew, her hands crossed in prayer and resting upon an open book. Seeing Ladislaus, she nodded her head and drew aside, to make room for him, not pausing in her prayers.

He wanted to speak to her but did not dare, and only kneeling, drew somewhat towards himself the book so that they might pray from it together. It was, however, so dark that he could read nothing and after a while he became convinced that he could not pray at all. He was seized by great emotion, for he understood that a new epoch in his life had commenced, and that this moment, in which by the consent of Miss Anney he knelt at her side before the altar to mutually entreat G.o.d for blessing, signified more than any other avowals, and that it was the first sanctification of their loves and their joint future lives. He was possessed by a sense of his happiness, but at the same time by some kind of solemn apprehension at the thought that everything would soon cease to be only a dream, only a fancy, only a phantom of happiness, and become realized and accomplished. Through his mind glided the interrogatories,--How will he be able to bear this happiness, what will he do with it, and how will he acquit himself,--and from these questions there was bred in him a sense of immense responsibility, surcharged with fear. It was like certain worries which hitherto, as a free man, he had not known or at least had not met face to face. And he saw before him cares more direct and immediate. The moment of his interview with his mother was approaching; there were also some secret obstacles, which Gronski mentioned, and it was inc.u.mbent upon him to weigh everything, to plan, settle various matters, and set aside antic.i.p.ated difficulties. In truth, now, if ever, it was worth while and necessary to trust to the Divine favor, invoke the All-provident aid, and deliver her to the care of the Future. Ladislaus observed that similar feelings and similar thoughts must have swayed Miss Anney as her countenance was calm, composed, grave, and even sad. The little flames of the candles were reflected in her upraised eyes and for a while it seemed to Ladislaus that he saw tears in those eyes.

Apparently with the whole strength of her soul she committed him and herself to G.o.d. And thus they knelt beside each other, shoulder to shoulder, heart to heart, and already united, happy, and a little timorous. Ladislaus, having suppressed the whirlwind of thoughts, at last began to pray and said to G.o.d, "Do with me whatever Thou wilt, but grant her happiness and peace." And a prodigious overflowing wave of love deluged his bosom. His prayer became at the same time a solemn espousal and internal oath that he would never wrong that most precious being in the world, and that those eyes would never weep for his sake.

In the meantime the votive ma.s.s was nearing its close. When the priest turned from the altar, his words, in the half-empty chapel, were as if dreamy and like whispering amidst sighs--as usually happens at the early morning ma.s.s. But at times they were deafened by thunders, as the storm began outside. The windows of the chapel darkened yet more, and from time to time livid lightning illuminated the panes; after which the darkness grew yet denser, and on the altar the little flames of the candles twinkled uneasily. The priest turned around once more; "Dominus vobisc.u.m!" after which, "Ite missa est." Afterwards he blessed the a.s.sembled and retired. The small number of faithful who heard the ma.s.s followed his example. Only they two remained. Then she began to say in a whisper, broken by emotion, "Under Thy protection we flee. Holy Mother of G.o.d," and the further words "Our entreaties deign not to spurn and from all evil deign to preserve us forever," were said jointly with Ladislaus, and in this manner the entire prayer concluded.

After this, silence fell between them, was broken only after a long while by Ladislaus.

"We will have to wait," he said in a low voice. "The storm is yet continuing."

"Very well," answered Miss Anney.

"My dear, dearest lady--"

But she placed her finger to her lips and silence again ensued. They did not, however, have to wait very long, for the summer storms come and pa.s.s away like birds. After the lapse of a quarter of an hour they left the church. The streets were flooded by the rain, but through the rifts of the scattered and rent clouds the sun shone brightly and, it seemed, moistly. Miss Anney's eyes winked under the flood of light and her countenance was as if she was awakened from a dream. But her composure and gravity did not pa.s.s away. Ladislaus, on the other hand, at the sight of the sun, and the bustle and life on the streets, was at once imbued with gayety and hope. He glanced once and again at his companion and she seemed to him as wonderful as a dream, charming as never before, and adorable simply beyond measure and bounds. He felt that he was capable of seizing her at that moment in his arms; of showing her to the sun, the clouds, the city, the human mult.i.tude, and exclaiming: "Behold my wealth, my treasure; this is the joy of my life!" But, conjecturing properly that Miss Anney would not a.s.sent to any manifestations like that, he subdued this impulse and directed his thoughts to more important matters.

"My adored lady," said he, "I must give utterance to words which burn my lips. When may I come to see you?"

"To-day at four," she replied; "I also have to tell you something upon which everything depends."

"Everything depends upon you, lady, and upon nothing else."

But her clear cheeks were suffused with confused blushes: her eyes shone as if with disagreeable uneasiness; and she replied:

"G.o.d grant--you do not know, sir--you do not know sir--" she repeated with emphasis. "We will be alone.--But now we must part."

Ladislaus escorted her to the carriage, kissed her hands and remained alone. Her words, corroborating that which Gronski had intimated as a result of his interviews with Pani Otocka, disquieted him, however, but only for a short time, as he was too much in love to suppose that it could change his love or swerve him from his purpose. At the mere thought of this he shrugged his shoulders.

"Women," he said to himself, "are always full of scruples and to actual difficulties they add chimerical ones."

After which, he returned home in the best of humor, and besides Gronski, found there Dolhanski.

"Behold," exclaimed Gronski, "lo, here is Dolhanski the bachelor.

Congratulate him for he is going to marry."

"No?" Truly? asked Ladislaus, amused.

"With Panna Kajetana Wlocek," added Dolhanski, with sangfroid and extraordinary gravity.