XIII
"Here is the answer which I finally received," said Ladislaus, handing a letter to Gronski; "I could not expect anything else."
"I knew that you would receive it," replied Gronski, blinking with his ailing eyes and searching for his binocle, "I was already informed of it by Pani Otocka, who from the beginning insisted that Miss Anney ought to answer you, and in the end prevailed upon her."
Ladislaus reddened and asked:
"Ah! So Zosia Otocka knows everything."
"She does and does not know. Miss Anney told her only this much; "He did not forget that he is a young lord and I a peasant woman and we ceased to understand each other." For her it was yet harder to speak of this than for you and that difficulty festers all the more the wound which, without it, is deep enough--But I cannot find the binocle."
"Here it is," said Ladislaus.
Gronski placed it on his nose and began to read:
"You, yourself, sir, rent and trampled upon our joy, our happiness, my trust, and that deep attachment which I had for you. To your query of whether I can ever recover those feelings, I answer that I seek for them in vain. If ever I recover them I will inform you with the same sincerity with which I to-day say that I have in my heart only grief and sadness which for a joint life will not suffice."
"Only so much!" said Ladislaus.
"My foresight," answered Gronski, "is verified only too perfectly. The spring for the time being has dried up."
"To the bottom, to the bottom, not a drop for refreshment."
Gronski remained silent for a while; after which he said:
"I think otherwise, nevertheless. This is not entirely hopeless. There remains sadness, grief and, as it were, the antic.i.p.ation of the recurring swell. In reality, it will not flow to-day nor to-morrow.--In view of this, for you there remains either to persevere patiently and win anew that which you lost, or else, if you have not sufficient strength, to take some shears and sever the remaining threads."
"Such shears I will not find. Do you remember, sir, what she did for me when I was wounded? I will not forget that."
At this Gronski shaded his eyes with his hand, gazed at Ladislaus intently and asked:
"My dear sir, did you ever propound to yourself one question?"
"What one?"
"What pains you the more,--the loss of Miss Anney or your wounded self-love?"
"I thank you, sir," answered Ladislaus, with irony. "In reality, only self-love. Through it, I do not sleep, do not eat; through it, in the course of a few days, I have grown lean like a shaving and were it not for this living wound, life for me would be one perpetual round of pleasure."
And he began to laugh bitterly, while Gronski continued to gaze at him, not removing his hand from his ailing eyes, and thought:
"That girl has an honest heart, and let her only see him; then she will forgive everything through compa.s.sion alone."
After which he said:
"Listen, after a quarter of an hour, I will put on those dark spectacles and go to the rehearsal. Come with me."
"How will that help me, now?" exclaimed Ladislaus.
"I do not know. I do not even guarantee that we will meet Miss Anney, for Marynia sometimes goes with a servant. But, in any event, you will not lose anything by it; so come."
But further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the doctor, the more unexpected, as he had announced, upon leaving Warsaw, that he would stay with his brother at least ten days.
"How is this? You have already returned!" exclaimed Gronski.
"A surprise, hey?" vociferated the doctor. "Yes! And for me it was a surprise! One medical visit, afterwards a fee supplemented with the amiable advice, "Get out of here, while you are whole!" Lo, here I am.
Oh, what a delightful journey!"
"How did this happen?"
"How did it happen? I will tell you immediately. But no! I know that at this hour you leave for that rehearsal: so I will go with you, gentlemen, and relate it to you on the way. That is such an amusing thing that it is worth while to hear it. Ha!"
Accordingly after a while they went and the jovial doctor began to recite his Odyssey.
"I arrived," he said, "a little fatigued, for that is a distant journey, and besides it is necessary to change cars, wait for trains at the stations, and so forth--the usual order with us. I reached the country-seat late and after greeting my brother, I went to bed at once.
But the following day I had barely unpacked the primers--you remember, gentlemen?--those I brought with me for the petty n.o.bility--and I had barely reproved my "provincial" brother, when an emergency call came summoning me to a high official who has an estate adjoining our seat and in summer resides with his family in the country. Ha! there was no help for it--I ride! And what appears? Why, a thimble stuck in a child"s throat. I found the child already livid, but the moment I pulled the thimble out, the infant went away playing and everything was in the best order. There was nothing else to do. I saved a future dignitary to the empire, and to the parents an only son, as the other children were daughters. So the grat.i.tude was immense. They pay--certainly! I wanted to ride away and iterated that there is nothing more to do. They would not let me go. Grat.i.tude, breakfast, cordiality, friendship, overflowing of Slavonic feelings, and a chat which after a time pa.s.sed into a political discussion. "There is not,"
says the dignitary, "harmony amidst brothers. And what a pity! Religion and tongue divide their languages. But what is religion, if not only an outward form? G.o.d is one. It is the same to Him whether He is glorified in the Latin or the Slavonic language. Why, for Slavonians it is more seemly if in the Slavonic. And as to the tongue, then the various dialects could be limited to conversations at home. Why, however, should not one language be adopted, not only officially, but in literature? The convenience would be greater, the control easier.
Then you would abandon your Catholicism and your dialects and accept ours--the one and the other,--but heartily and voluntarily. And harmony would immediately follow. The times for you would be better. There would be downright delight."--"
"He mistook his man," interrupted Gronski, laughing.
"And that he should chance upon me," replied the doctor. "I, gentlemen, am a deist, a philosopher, but a pa.s.sable Catholic. Often it happens that I a.s.sail the church just as I a.s.sail Poland whenever anything occurs which displeases me. Only if some stranger does the same thing in my presence then--a strange thing!--I have a desire to knock out his teeth. Therefore I began to defend the Church as if I never in my life crawled out of a sacristy; bah, even better, in a way as if I was a Catholic apologist. "If," I said, "religion is only an external form tell me just why should we abandon this form of ours, which is the most spiritualized, the most cultural, and the most beautiful. That Catholicism, with which you advise us to take our leave, has encompa.s.sed the entire West, organized society, produced European civilization, preserved learning, has founded universities, reared churches, which are masterpieces, gave us Saint Augustine, Dante, Petrarch, Saint Francis, and Saint Thomas, created the Renaissance, created Leonardo da Vinci"s; "Lord"s Supper," Michelangelo"s "Tombs of the Medici," Raphael"s "School of Athens" and "Disputa," erected such temples as Saint Peter"s, not counting others scattered throughout Italy and all over Europe. That Catholicism made us partakers of the universal culture, united us with the West, imprinted a European stamp upon our Polish soul, etc., etc." And I talked in this strain until he interrupted me and said. "In this is the misfortune, that it has united you with the West." And I replied to that, "A misfortune to whom, and to whom not a misfortune? But now we will speak of your proposition of renouncing the tongue and therefore the nationality. Know, sir, that this is an empty and foolish dream. That never will take place. I proclaim and insist in advance--never! But a.s.suming for a moment an impossible thing, that a pestilence will so blight us, that our hearts will be so debilitated that we will say to ourselves "Enough!--we can no longer be Poles!" then what? Reflect, sir, objectively, like a man who has not lost the ability to think, what could restrain us from becoming Germans? Our Slavonic extraction? But we are Slavonians, just because we are Poles. You are a people who do not know how to live and do not permit anybody else to live. So what motive would keep us with you? Is it your peace? Your welfare? Your morality? Your administration? Your science? Your learning? Your wealth? Your power?
Learn to look in the eyes of reality; cultivate in yourselves the ability to reckon with it, and you will understand that by denationalizing us you labor for some one else. But I reiterate yet once more that this is only a foolish dream; that the moment of renunciation will never come and if I spoke of it, it was only to answer those things which you suggested."
"With this our conversation ended. They, in a yet higher degree than we, cannot endure unpleasant truths, so my dignitary changed into a decanter of iced water, and on the leave-taking merely said to me: "Well, you are too candid, young man, but I thank you for the child." A half an hour later I was at home."
"I can surmise what happened afterwards," said Gronski.
"Yes. As the thimble was removed, that same night I received an order to leave the next day by the first train."
"Be satisfied that it ended with that."
"I am satisfied. I will stay a few days in Warsaw; I will see the notary; I will attend Panna Zbyltowska"s concert. Certainly!
Certainly!"
Here he addressed Ladislaus.
"How is your mother and your fiancee?"
"Thank you. Mother is not badly, but will soon have to leave."
And desiring to hide his confusion, he began to gaze intently into the depths of the street, and after a while exclaimed:
"But look! I see Panna Marynia with a maid-servant, and with them some third person is walking."
In reality about a hundred paces down the street Marynia could be seen approaching, accompanied by a maidservant, with the violin in a case.