Читать книгу Whirlpools - Генрик Сенкевич, Henryk Sienkiewicz - Страница 1

Gronski arrived at the Jastrzeb manor-house about midnight. In the house all were asleep excepting an old servant and the young heir, Ladislaus Krzycki, who awaited his guest with supper and greeted him with great cordiality, for notwithstanding the disparity in their ages they were bound by ties of an old intimacy. It continued from those days when Gronski, as a university student, surrounded with a tutelary friendship the youthful Krzycki, who was attending the gymnasium. Later they met frequently and the closer friendly relations between Gronski and the Krzycki family did not undergo any interruption.

Therefore when, after the first greetings, they repaired to the dining-room the young heir of Jastrzeb again began to embrace Gronski. After a while, having seated him at the table, he shook from his eyes the remnants of drowsiness which had oppressed him, became thoroughly animated, and said with sincere happiness:

"How immensely fortunate I am that at last we have you at Jastrzeb; and Mother, how she has been expecting you! I, whenever I am in Warsaw, always begin with you, but a year has passed since your last visit here."

Gronski inquired about Pani Krzycki's health and that of the younger members of the household, after which he said:

"It is, indeed, strange that I have not been out in the country, not only with you but elsewhere. In summer time they dispatch me every year to Carlsbad, and after Carlsbad one strays somewhere in the west. Besides, in Warsaw matters are now seething as in a caldron, and it is difficult to tear one's self from all this."

The conversation, which started with a lengthy discussion of public affairs, was afterwards turned by Ladislaus towards private matters:

"Did you," he said, "besides the notification of the death of Uncle Zarnowski, receive a letter from Mother? I ask for this reason: I mailed first the notification, and later in the day Mother decided to write the letter."

"I received both and for that reason I am here. I tell you candidly I would not come merely to attend your uncle's funeral. It is true that a year ago, when he was in Warsaw for medical treatment, we dined together for several months at the same club, but that was all; though people were astonished that such a misanthrope, who avoided everybody, did not somehow run away from me. How were your relations? Were they cool to the end?"

"Rather, there were none. He would not receive anybody and did not wish to see any one, not even his parish-priest. Extreme unction was administered by the Canon of Olchowa. When he became seriously ill, we visited him in Rzeslewo, but he received us with blunt discourtesy. Mother did not mind it and repeated her visits, though at times he was disagreeable towards her. As for myself, I confess that I did not call there again until he was in a very critical state."

"Did he leave a large estate?"

"Rzeslewo is a huge patch of that kind of soil in which you can anywhere plant at least onions. There is not one copper coin of indebtedness. At one time Uncle had a house in Warsaw, to which he removed the entire equipment from Rzeslewo, which was not, by any means, despicable. We thought that he would reside permanently in the city, but he later sold everything; from which I infer he must have left funds. Some, as is customary with people who are fond of exaggeration, say hundreds of thousands. The Lord only knows. But this much is certain: he inherited a great deal from his brothers. I do not know whether you have ever heard that there were three of them. One perished, while yet a student, in a duel at Dorpat; the other died, also young, from typhoid fever, and Uncle Adam got everything they left."

"It is said that he lived very poorly."

"He stayed a great deal in Warsaw and abroad for his health. How he lived there I do not know, but, after his return to Rzeslewo, very wretchedly. I think, however, that this was more due to whimsicality than to greed, for he was not greedy. You would not believe how that manor appeared; how everything was denuded and abandoned. In every room the roof was leaky, and if some unexpected guests or unknown relatives arrive for the funeral, I will have to invite them to Jastrzeb, for there I would not know where to house them."

"Do you know of any other relatives?"

"Yes, there are Pani Otocka and her sister; also Dolhanski, who undoubtedly will come, and ourselves. I have not heard of others, though in all probability they will be found, as in Poland everybody is related. Mother insists that we are the nearest, but, to tell the truth, we are not very close; as the deceased was a distant cousin of Mother's."

"And Pani Otocka and Panna Marynia?"

"Better ask Mother about that; yesterday for an hour she was expounding to me as to who was born to whom; what he was to whom; whom did who's sister marry, and what was who's relation to the deceased. I could not grasp it all. Those ladies will be here to-morrow at one o'clock, and with them an English lady, their friend."

"I know; they told me about that in Warsaw, not knowing that they would chance upon the funeral. But that English lady speaks Polish almost as well as we do."

"What? How is that?"

"Her father owned a factory in which he employed many Polish workmen. The young lady, while a child, had a Polish nurse, and later some emigrant taught her Polish."

"And that she should care for it!"

"Among the English people you will find many odd characters, and this Mr. Anney was an odd character in this respect, that he could, like Lord Dudley, select for his heraldic device: 'Causas non fata sequor,' because, like him, he also loved Poland, Polish history, and the Poles. The workmen were sometimes turbulent and caused him much annoyance, but this did not dishearten him. He established schools for them, procured priests, took charge of the orphans, etc."

"That was a righteous man. But Miss Anney, is she pretty? – young?"

"About Pani Otocka's age-a year younger or older-and they are very fond of each other. How long is it since you have seen Pani Otocka and Marynia?"

"It is six years. Pani Otocka was not yet married and Panna Marynia Zbyltowska was a girl, perhaps ten years old, in short dresses. I well remember her because even then she played the violin and was regarded as a child-wonder. My mother drew nearer to them last summer in Krynica and has become extraordinarily captivated with them. She insisted that this winter I should renew their acquaintance, but they left Warsaw for the winter. Even then she commanded me to invite them in my own name to Jastrzeb, and a few days before the death of Uncle, she wrote to them to come for a lengthy visit. Day before yesterday we received a dispatch that they will come. You are on intimate terms with them?"

"Yes, on intimate and very sincere terms," answered Gronski.

"Because I wanted to speak with you a little about them, but the hour is late and you are after a journey. Perhaps it would be better to defer it until to-morrow."

"I slept on the train and it is not far from the station to your place. Besides, I have the bad habit of not retiring to sleep before two o'clock."

Ladislaus' countenance bore slight traces of perplexity. He poured out for himself a glass of wine, drank it, and then said:

"The matter is somewhat delicate. I am certain that Mother has concocted some scheme. Perhaps she may have written to you about this and, if not, she will speak about it, because she is much concerned about your opinion, and in a certain contingency will ask your assistance. Several times she incidentally spoke about your influence with Pani Otocka. I believe that you have influence with everybody, not excluding my mother. For that reason I would like to ask a favor of you."

Gronski glanced at the young nobleman and afterwards at the servant, as if he wanted to say: "Why is this witness here?" Ladislaus understood and said:

"He is very deaf, so we can speak quite freely. He wheezes because he has the asthma."

Afterwards he continued:

"Mother for the past two years has been bent upon my getting married, so she bustles about, writes voluminous letters, and sends me every winter to Warsaw, and I am certain that last summer she was in Krynica not so much for her own health, which, God be praised, she preserves so well, but to look over the young ladies and make a selection. And there these cousins of mine have so bewitched her that she returned, as I surmise, with a prepared project."

"I must give you warning," interrupted Gronski, "that so far as Panna Marynia is concerned you are building an edifice upon ice, as in the first place she is but sixteen; and again she will, at the end of autumn, return to the conservatory in Brussels; and thirdly her whole soul is wrapped up in her violin and in all probability will always remain there."

"May it stay there. You say 'you are building,' but I not only am not building, but would prefer that Mother would not build, as it will be unpleasant for her. After all, my dear mother is the most upright soul in the world, and beyond doubt all she desires is that I should have a good and estimable woman for a wife; but I would prefer that my future spouse should not resemble too much a Grecian statue."

"Well then?"

"Well then, Panna Marynia is not involved but only an ideal and, at the same time, a warm young widow: to which arrangement I cannot by any means assent."

"I will answer with a Lithuanian anecdote, according to which an old woman, to a peasant's assertion that he did not fear the master, replied, 'Because thou hast never seen him.' Likewise, you have never seen Pani Otocka, or have forgotten how she looks."

But Ladislaus repeated:

"Not for the world, even if she looked like a sacred painting."

"Then perhaps you love another?"

"Why, you yourself tormented me last winter about Panna Rose Stabrowska, and I admit that she has made an impression upon my heart. But I did not permit myself to fall in love with her, because I know her parents would not give her to me. I am not and will not be rich enough for them. For that reason I escaped from Warsaw before the close of the carnival. I did not wish to envenom with vain feeling my life or hers, if she should love me."

"But in case of a will in your favor? Would you not rush into the smoke like a Uhlan of old? Is it not true?"

"Most assuredly; but as I cannot depend upon that, and as that will not happen, there is no necessity of talking further about it."

"You spoke, however, of asking a favor of me. In what can I serve you?"

"I wanted to beg you not to fortify my mother in her designs as to Pani Otocka."

"How queer you are! Why, when your mother perceives your disinclination towards her, she will banish the thought."

"Yes, but there will remain a little regret for herself and for me. A person is always disappointed when his plans miscarry, and Mother is so eternally worried, though often without reason, because, after all, no ruin is threatening us. But she has so much confidence in your judgment that if you will explain to her that it is better to abandon those thoughts, she will abandon them. However, you will have to contrive it so that it will appear to her that she herself came to that conclusion. I know you can do it, and I rely upon your friendship."

"My dear Laudie," said Gronski, "in these affairs I have less experience, and therefore less judgment, than the first female neighbor on the border of your estate. In your mother's letter there appears, word for word, the same expression: 'I rely upon your friendship.' In view of this, there remains only one thing to do, and that is not to meddle in the affair at all, – especially as I will candidly state to you that I entertain for Pani Otocka no less friendship than I do for you. Considering the matter from another light, it is peculiar that we should speak of Pani Otocka without considering her. It is allowable for your mother to believe that every woman, if you would but stretch out your hand towards her, would grab it with alacrity; but not for you. For you renounce things in such a way as if everything depended upon you, and I assure you that it is not so, and that if Pani Otocka should ever decide to marry, she will be exceedingly particular in her choice."

"You are perfectly right," answered Krzycki, "but I am not, of course, so foolish or so vain as to imagine that the whole thing depends upon me. If I have expressed myself in an unsuitable manner, it is because I thought only of Mother and myself and not at all of Pani Otocka. All that I care about is that Mother should not urge me to seek her hand, as I conjecture I might, after all, get the mitten."

Gronski scanned the shapely figure of the youth and answered with a certain benevolent petulance:

"That is well, although I do not know whether you are talking sincerely; for men like you, the deuce knows why, have great luck with women and they know it perfectly well. What have you against Pani Otocka? Why, you hardly know her. Let me tell you that both of those ladies are of such high quality as you rarely find."

"I believe it, I believe it; but, in the first place, Pani Otocka is fully three years younger than myself, which means that she is twenty-four, and yet she is a widow."

"Then you have a prejudice against widows?"

"I confess that I have. Let matrimony give me everything that it can possibly give, but a marriage with a widow will not give me all that. A widow! – To think that every word which the maiden blushingly and with palpitating heart whispers, the widow has already told to some one else: and that which in a maid is, as it were, a sacrifice to love, in a widow is but a repetition. No, I thank you, for a flower which somebody else has previously plucked. Good fortune is not inherited with a heritage, nor procured at second hand. Let not only matrimony, but also love, give me all they can give, and, if not, then I prefer remaining an old bachelor."

"My dear," answered Gronski, "between the heart and a bag of money there is, however, a vast difference. Money, after you once part with it, you have no more, but the heart is a living organism which regenerates and creates new forces."

"That may be, – in every case, however, the memory of the past remains. Finally, I am not enunciating any general theories, but merely my personal views. Plainly, I could not love a widow and I do want to love my wife, even though slightly. Otherwise what enjoyment would I have in life? A rural estate? Good! I am an agriculturist and I agree to plough and sow until death. But whoever imagines that this will give peace and happiness, simply has no conception of the load of care, bitterness, affliction, deception, self reproach, and strife with the bad will of mankind and nature which one must endure. There are, it is true, brighter moments, but far oftener one must defend himself against downright loathsomeness. Now I want at least this: that I shall return willingly home from the field or barn; that in the home there shall await me fresh, rosy, and tempting cheeks which I crave to kiss, and eyes into which I would long to gaze. I want to have some one on whom I can bestow all that is best in me. I speak of this, not as one who is infatuated with the romantic, but as a sober man who can keep accounts of expenditures and receipts, not only in husbandry but also in life."

Gronski thought that in reality every matured masculine life should bear two faces; one with wrinkled brow, expressive of intense mental strain, turned towards the problems of humanity, and the other calm and peaceable at the fireside in the home.

"Yes," he said, "I would be delighted with such a home as a refuge from care and in it 'fresh, rosy and tempting cheeks' as an attraction."

Ladislaus, in his laughter, displayed his sound, shining teeth and answered joyously:

"Ah, how it does delight me! the soul almost squeaks."

And they both began to laugh.

"But," said Gronski, "one must be lucky enough to find that and courageous enough to win."

To Krzycki there suddenly came the recollection of a certain ball in Warsaw; of Panna Rose Stabrowska, her pensive eyes, and her white, half-childlike shoulders protruding from the net-lace like watery foam. He therefore sighed quietly.

"Sometimes," he said, "courage also is necessary to bridle one's self."

In the chamber for an interval could be heard only the measured tick-tack of the cumbrous clock and the wheezing of the asthmatic servant, who dozed, leaning against the sideboard.

The hour was late, Gronski rose and, having roused himself from a momentary revery, said, as if speaking to himself:

"And those ladies will be here to-morrow."

Afterwards he added with a touch of sadness:

"Ah, at your age it is not permissible to bridle one's self."