Whirlpools: A Novel of Modern Poland Part 44

Nevertheless, he was seized with an ever-increasing tenderness, and more and more became obliterated that difference between Hanka and Miss Anney which was so irritating to him in the first moments. Now, on the contrary, the recollection that this simple girl of old and that fascinating lady of to-day were one and the same woman penetrated him with a kind of thrill, resembling a thrill of joy. The memory that at one time he possessed the other began to waken in him, as it were, a hunger and a new pa.s.sion for the present one, and the thought of her charms intensified the play of his young blood. But he strove to stifle within him those impressions with the consciousness of the responsibilities which were imposed upon him. Above all things he propounded to himself the question. What should a man of honor do who had betrayed and therefore wronged a girl, almost a child, who was in love with him, and later, after a few years, met her under a changed name and fell in love with her? There was only one answer; even if he did not fall in love, if her love continued, he ought to a.s.sume all the consequences of his acts. If she remained a simple-minded rustic who never could understand him, or if she had deviated from the path of rect.i.tude, even in such a case, it would not, for his vexed soul, be sufficient reason for was.h.i.+ng his hands and withdrawing from the affair; and so much the more, since the girl had bridged the intellectual and social chasm which separated them, and in addition enn.o.bled her own soul and had not ceased to love. "Yes it is so. I would spit in my own eyes," said Ladislaus (not thinking at that moment that in practice an act like that would be a trifle difficult to perform), "if I hesitated any longer. There is only one thing to do and I will do that at once." Having formed this resolution, he took a deep breath like a man, from whose heart a heavy load has fallen--and as much as he at first became little in his own eyes, so now he began to gain in stature. He did not, however, propound the question, what would happen if Miss Anney did not have such wondrous eyes, gazing with a heavenly streak, nor such a countenance, whose color reminded him of the petals of a white rose, nor those other charms which attracted his eyes. He said to himself that many of his acquaintances could not afford to form a similar resolution; he was pleased with himself; and that it was easier for him to do so because he was impelled thereto by his heart and senses, he deemed not as lessening the worthiness of the act itself, but as his own good fortune. He foresaw, however, that he would yet have to do with his mother as well as with the so called opinion of society, which is not concerned about principles but only about gossip, and which seeks, above all things, food for its own stupid malice. But he expected to reconcile his mother, and as to the malicious, smiling ironically upon the slightest provocation, his nostrils, distended at the very thought, and his clenched teeth boded them no good. But this antic.i.p.ated knightly action was a matter of the future; in the meantime his impetuous nature urged him to immediate action. He determined to go to his mother at once and definitely come to an understanding with her. Glancing, however, at his watch, he became aware of the fact that it was almost three o'clock in the morning. In view of this, that was impossible. Not feeling, however, the least need of sleep, and desiring absolutely to do something, he sat down to write letters. First, he inclosed Miss Anney's letter in an envelope, because he wanted to send it to his mother before the decisive interview took place; after which he started to write to Miss Anney, but soon stopped, as it occurred to him that since he gave his word that he would remain silent for a week, he did not have the right to do it. Instead, after a brief deliberation, he wrote a few words to Pani Otocka, praying that she would permit him to visit her that day.

Finally, when the dawn began to peer into the room and mingle with the light of the lamps, he thought of repose, but though he felt great weariness, he could not fall asleep, and mentally he conversed with his mother and Miss Anney until sunrise. He fell into a sound slumber only when the morning bustle in the hotel began and did not awake until late. Dressing himself, he rang for the servant and ordered him to deliver Miss Anney's letter to his mother, but at the last minute he made up his mind to take it to her himself. But in the rooms engaged by his mother he found only the younger members of the family and the French governess, who informed him that "madame" went to church early in the morning.

V

Pani Krzycki had indeed gone to church and confession, for in the grief which befell her, she needed consolation and advice. And her grief was real and profound. She lived in times in which various ancient prejudices and prepossessions clashed, and were becoming more and more obliterated, yielding place to new democratic ideas. As she often heard that the wave of these new ideas might bring benefit and salvation to the country, she, notwithstanding that her habits and former conceptions conflicted with them, not only did not struggle against them, but quietly acquiesced in them in a pa.s.sive manner. This was easier for her as it never occurred to her that personally she would ever have anything to do with them. For her it was the same as if somebody had installed modern furniture in a few rooms in Jastrzeb, which were not continually occupied. Let them stay there since fas.h.i.+on requires it and since in the other rooms there are old armchairs, heirlooms, in which one can rest comfortably. And now, suddenly she was ordered to move to that new part of the house; suddenly she was confronted by the fact that her son was in love with a peasant woman from Rzeslewo and was about to marry her. Then in the first moments everything within her was stirred up; the old instincts and customs began to cry out. That silent and pa.s.sive acquiescence in the new ideas crumbled like a building of sand, and the whole course of events appeared to the indignant citizeness-n.o.blewoman as an unworthy intrigue in which the victim to be sported with was her son and with him, the entire Krzycki family. Amazement that the chief partner and almost author of this intrigue could be a being whom she regarded as the incarnation of all feminine virtues, and whom she desired her son should marry, only aggravated her anger. In vain did Zosia explain to her that her son was the betrayer of an innocent child and Miss Anney was an angel, and that in bringing her to Jastrzeb, she did not have any sinister designs and did only that which every other woman in her place, sympathizing with a wronged and longing woman, would have done.

"If the most fervent wish of Miss Anney was to behold once more in her life the place in which her life was undone, and the man whom she could not forget and who was the author of her undoing, then it was due to her; and everybody who has the slightest heart ought to understand this. And let Aunt say," she continued, "whether I could betray her secret and whether an impossible situation would not have been created for her." The usually quiet and gentle Zosia became so wrought up in defence of her friend that she plainly told Pani Krzycki that even if Laudie fell in love with Miss Anney without any requital that it would be only what he deserved and, besides, since "Aninka" did not accept his proposal and gave him a week's time for consideration, he could withdraw it; in such case, however, "Aninka" would not be the only one whose respect he forfeited. But all this was pouring oil upon fire and only increased the ire of Pani Krzycki who declared that, at any rate, she and her son were victims of a plot. After which she moved to a hotel, announcing at the time of her departure that her feet would never again cross the threshold of that house.

Nevertheless, the bitterness and anger which acc.u.mulated in her heart were not directed against Pani Otocka alone. Her son also had wounded her heart deeply and awakened a whole series of painful recollections, connected with the memory of her husband. For her husband, a man wors.h.i.+pped by her during the first years of their marital life for his manifold good qualities and extraordinary beauty, had caused her not a little mortification through his immoral life in relation to women in general and the female residents of Jastrzeb and its vicinity in particular. To Pani Krzycki it was no secret, that, in the course of long years, cows were led continually from the manor cow-houses as gifts or rather as rewards to various Kates and Marys and that in Jastrzeb could be found quite a number of step-brothers and step-sisters of her children. So she shed copious tears over this state of affairs until almost the last year of her husband's life. In her time she suffered in her own self-love and her womanly dignity as a wife and mother. Afterwards she forgave everything, but after the death of her husband, as a woman deeply religious, she lived in continual fear at the thought of the Divine Tribunal, before which the deceased appeared. For whole years she tried to supplicate for him forgiveness through tears, fasts, alms, and prayers. Above all she determined to bring up her son in such a manner that he would never fall into the errors of his father. She watched him in his boyhood days, like the eye in her head; she s.h.i.+elded him from all evil influences. After sending him to school she confided the care of him to her relative, a priest, and to Gronski, in whose morality she justly believed. And when the son grew up, when after finis.h.i.+ng school, he attended the university, and afterwards a.s.sumed the management of the Jastrzeb estate, she had that bottomless, nave faith, usual with women, upright and pious but unacquainted with the depravity of the world, that up to that time "Laudie" was as pure as a lily. And now unexpectedly the film over her eyes dropped. The son was following in the footsteps of his father. At this thought she was beset by despair. In her soul a protest truly vehement poured forth against the alliance of her son with a peasant woman, but having a very sensitive conscience she felt, after her conversation with Zosia, that Miss Anney had some claim on Ladislaus.

Once or twice, this manner of extricating themselves from an onerous situation suggested itself to her mind; that Ladislaus in pursuance of a prearranged compact should propose to Miss Anney and she should refuse him. "But do I know," she said to herself, "how many similar Hankas may already be found in Jastrzeb?" And a horror penetrated to the marrow of her bones at the thought that among those Hankas might be Ladislaus' step-sisters, for it seemed to her that the crimes of the father fatally dragged after them the yet greater crimes of the son and with them must follow d.a.m.nation. "Ah, Laudie! ah, Laudie!" she repeated despondently, and she felt besides fear, such pain, such disappointment of heart and such profound resentment, that however much she understood that it was necessary to summon Ladislaus as soon as possible and ascertain how he had received the news that Miss Anney is Hanka and what he intended to do, nevertheless she could not persuade herself to see him at once. After removing from Pani Otocka's, the information that he was not at the hotel afforded her true relief. She immediately locked herself up in her room and determined, if he called, not to admit him.

The following morning she went to church and to confession and after confession she begged her relative, the prelate, the same who in his time had charge of Ladislaus, for advice. Already she was calmer. The aged prelate received her and began with extraordinary particularity to question her about Miss Anney, her stay at Jastrzeb, about the course of events after the attempt on Ladislaus' life, and about the details in Hanka's life, of which Pani Krzycki had learned from Zosia: afterwards about the fears of Pani Krzycki herself, and finally after a long silence he said:

"As to the sins, which Ladislaus, after this, the first sin of his youth, might have committed, that is only a conjecture, and a fear, and as we have no irrefutable proofs of them, we should not take them into account at all. There only remains the former Hanka and the Miss Anney of to-day. It is only with this one case that we have to do. So I desire to know how you, as a mother, regard her."

Pani Krzycki replied that she knew perfectly well that all people in the sight of G.o.d were equal, but she was concerned about the happiness of her son. Similar marriages were not usually happy. It may be that the reason for this is the malice of the world: it may be that the wife met with humiliation on the part of vain and malicious persons, but the husband must feel that also, in consequence of which irritation ensues and the relations grow from bad to worse even without any ill-will on either side. As to her son he is ambitious and sensitive as but few are, and even if he loved his wife most strongly, he would suffer if any one evinced towards her even a shade of disdain. Whoever lives in the world must reckon with everything, even with stupidity, even with malice, not to say with other considerations upon which marital happiness often depends.

The aged prelate listened, folding and unfolding according to his habit a silk handkerchief, and finally said:

"Reckoning with stupidity and malice may only mean guarding against them, not making any concessions to them."

After which he began to look at Pani Krzycki with a penetrating gaze and asked:

"Permit me to put one question to you: Why should your son necessarily be happy?"

She looked at him with surprise.

"Why, I am his mother."

"Yes, but there are things more important than happiness, particularly temporal,--is it not true?"

"True," she answered quietly.

"That which you said in respect to temporal matters may be more or less just and may actually be the reasons which make such marriages less happy than others, but it is necessary above all things to propound to one's self the question. What in life is greater and what is less, what is more important and what is less important, and to act according to the dictates of conscience."

"Well, how am I to act?" asked Pani Krzycki.

The aged prelate looked at the crucifix hanging on the wall and quietly, but with emphasis, answered:

"As a Christian."

A momentary silence followed.

"I am satisfied with the advice," said Pani Krzycki, "and I thank you."

VI

Ladislaus, while his mother was in church and consulting the prelate, repaired, notwithstanding the early hour, to Pani Otocka. At the very beginning he raised to his lips both of her hands and kissed them so long that she, from that act alone, perceived his intentions.

"I knew it would be so! I knew it!" she cried with emotion and joy.

While he replied in a soft quivering voice:

"I did not require a week to perceive that I cannot live without her."

"I knew it," Zosia once more repeated. "Have you spoken with your mother, yet?"

"No. Yesterday, I ran about the city senselessly, after which I rushed to Gronski's and went to the hotel very late, and this morning I was informed that Mother was in church."

Pani Otocka again became anxious.

"Yesterday," she said, "she was very angry and G.o.d grant that she may be reconciled, for on this all depends."

"Not all," answered Ladislaus; "not to speak of my great attachment for Mother, I esteem her immensely; and G.o.d sees that I would be pleased always to conform to her will. But that has its limits; when the happiness, not only of myself, but of the being most precious to me in the world, is concerned, then I cannot sacrifice that under any circ.u.mstances; I have pondered over this all night. I have a hope that Mother will consent; as I trust in her character and in that love which she has always shown to me. If, however, contrary to my hopes, it should appear otherwise, then I will tell her that this is a resolution which cannot now be and will not be revoked."

"Maybe there is no necessity for that," said Pani Otocka, "for Aninka also is concerned. Yesterday, after the letter which she wrote to you and after Pan Gronski's departure, we talked until late at night. She was very nervous and cried, but spoke thus: 'If he returns to me, not joyfully and with entire good-will, but only because he did not want to withdraw his word, then I will never consent to it. There is no pride in me. I did not even reckon with my own self-love, and wrote to him sincerely what was in my heart, but even if it should break I would not wed him, if it shall seem to him that he is lowering himself for me.'"

"The dear, lovely creature!" interrupted Ladislaus.

Pani Otocka continued:

"After that she began to cry, and added that she would not consent to be the cause of an estrangement between mother and son."

"No, I repeat once more that my resolution cannot and shall not be revoked. Here my whole life is involved--and even if now Mother cannot find in her heart sufficient good-will, she will find it later. In the meantime I will do everything in order that my future wife should have in her also a mother, affectionate and grateful for her son's happiness."

"Can I repeat that to Miss Anney?"

"That is just what I came for. But I have yet one more prayer. She took my word that for a week I would not return to her and she alone can release me from it. But in view of what I came here for, this would be downright, needless torture. Neither a week nor a year can change anything. Nothing, absolutely! Will Cousin deign to tell her that and beg of her from me, but beg very cordially, that she release me from my word?"

"With the greatest pleasure, and I have a hope this will not be a too difficult matter to adjust."

"I thank you with my whole soul and now I will hurry to Mother."

But before he left the room, Marynia rushed in and began to gaze sharply, now at her sister, then at Ladislaus. In reality she was not apprized of the secrets of the former relations between Ladislaus and Hanka, but she already knew that Miss Anney is the former Hanka; she knew everything which transpired afterwards and, loving Miss Anney very much, she was dying from uneasiness and curiosity as to what turn the affair would take. She was so pretty with that wistful gaze and uneasy face and, besides, she had such an amusing mien that Ladislaus, in spite of his emotions, at the sight of her, fell into a good humor.

Zosia remained silent, not knowing whether he wished to speak of his affair of the heart before Marynia, while he, purposely, for sometime did not break the silence; finally he approached his little cousin and squeezing her hand, announced in a sepulchral voice:

"Too late!"

"How too late," she asked alarmed.

"She is going to marry some one else."

"Who?"

"Panna--Kajetana."