Whirlpools: A Novel of Modern Poland Part 47

"And I will not omit any," said the notary.

Nevertheless, he grew so impatient that they left too early. Before the building stood about a dozen persons, evidently waiting for those in the hall; while from within there reached them a buzzing noise, at times shouts, applause, and the sound of the stamping of feet.

"What kind of meeting is it?" asked the doctor.

"Really, I do not know," answered Gronski. "Now we are full of that.

There are political meetings, social conferences, literary lectures, and G.o.d knows what else."

"I envy Warsaw," exclaimed the doctor.

"There is not much to envy. At times it chances that something deserves attention, but oftener such absurdities take place that one feels ashamed."

"Oh, they are already leaving," observed the notary; "but why are they shouting so?"

"Let us wait; that is some kind of a brawl," said Gronski.

In fact it evidently was a brawl, for from the roomy vestibule there rushed out on the wide stairs between ten, and twenty men, without caps or hats, who in the twinkling of an eye, formed a disorderly heap. In this heap, hands, canes, and umbrellas moved violently, and these motions were accompanied by a shrill shriek. Afterwards from the gyrating mob, shoved by tens of arms, shot out, as if from a sling, somebody, with bare head and tattered coat, who, leaping from the stairs, turned a somersault at the doctor's feet in such a manner as almost to tumble him and the notary on the ground.

"Swidwicki!" exclaimed Gronski with astonishment.

Swidwicki rose, and shaking his fist menacingly at the crowd, which, having ejected him outdoors, was again returning to the hall, began to say with a panting voice:

"Ah, it is you! They have warmed my hide--they have warmed my hide!

They have broken my ribs a little, and torn my coat. But that is nothing! I also have crooked a few straight noses and have straightened out a few crooked ones. This is the second time that this has happened to me--ouch!"

"Come with me. You cannot stay thus, with bare head and in such a coat."

"No, no!" answered Swidwicki. "Ouch! Let me recover my breath. Hey!

Messenger!"

And beckoning to a messenger, he said to him:

"Citizen! Here are two pieces of coin and a wardrobe check. Go to the vestibule and fetch me my hat and topcoat."

"But for the Lord's sake what happened?"

"Directly, directly," said Swidwicki; "but let me first dress. After that we will go to some confectioner's shop--ouch! For as soon as the meeting closes, they will begin to go out and, finding me here, they will be ready to administer a new drubbing to me and to you gentlemen to boot."

"So that was a meeting?"

"A meeting, conference, discussion, lecture--whatever you wish. Panna Sicklawer spoke on 'Imparting knowledge.' On the platform sat Pan Citronenduft, Panna Bywalkiewicz, Panna Anserowicz, Panna Kostropacka, the editor Czubacki, and others. The hall was packed to suffocation.

Ouch! I enjoyed myself like a king."

"We see," observed Gronski.

"You think not? But introduce me to these gentlemen. For I am the hero of the day."

"Hero Swidwicki, gentlemen; Notary Dzwonkowski and Dr. Szremski," said Gronski.

Swidwicki squeezed the palms of Gronski's astonished companions; after which when the messenger brought the hat, cane, and top-coat he dressed himself and said:

"With this cane I would be ready to wait for them here--but for to-day I have had enough. The meeting will last twenty minutes or longer. Let us go to some confectioner's shop, for I feel a pain in my legs and cannot stand."

They went to a confectioner's. Swidwicki ordered for himself one and then a second gla.s.s of cognac, after which he began to talk:

"That was an instructive meeting. Panna Sicklawer, I tell you gentlemen, is a Cicero in petticoats. When she started to impart knowledge to various meek creatures of the masculine gender and various magpies of fourteen years, of whom the audience mainly consisted, even I grew warm. The meek creatures applauded or else cried 'shame' when there was a talk of parents, and the magpies blushed so violently and fidgeted in their seats so much, that they seemed to sit on needles, and everything went along smoothly. Remarks were made by Pan Citronenduft, Panna Gotower and some maid, a native of far away Kars, whose name as well as I could hear it, had a Grecian or Spanish sound,--Nieodtego. The maturer portion of the auditors was also carried away by the enthusiasm, and I, though Gronski doubts it, enjoyed myself like a king. For you see, gentlemen, that I, from principle, have nothing against imparting knowledge,--nothing. Quite the reverse! Only, I am of the opinion, if an affair is to be jolly let it be really jolly. So then, after a few addresses, I rose, asked leave to speak and announced that I desired to recite a poem in honor of the gathering.

They agreed to it and I received applause in advance. Then I began to declaim--indeed, not an original poem, but my own parody on the fable: 'Once wanton little Thad.' But this did not continue long; it appeared that my Thaddy proved himself to be so wanton, that he was too wanton, even for them. They did not like also this; that in staring at Panna Nieodtego, I closed one eye. They began to shout 'Silence!' 'Fie!'

'Away with him! This is jeering!' And here my ideal fable began to change into a real epic. For when in reply to the shout 'This is jeering,' I said, 'Well what did you think it was?' there was a universal roar of 'Put him out!' At least fifty hands grappled my shoulders and neck; a nice rumpus followed. They struck me, I struck back. Finally, they dumped me into the corridor: from the corridor on to the stairs, and into the street. The rest you gentlemen know. I repeat for the third time that I enjoyed myself like a king."

"That to me is at least courage," said the doctor; "it is necessary to stop such things, even by a scandal; so you did well, sir; you are a brave nationalist."

"I, a nationalist," exclaimed Swidwicki, "why, the day before yesterday I was thrown out of a meeting of the National Democrats. Indeed, a little more politely, but I was ejected."

Gronski began to laugh.

"So this is your new sport?"

But with this their conversation ended as their attention was attracted by the crowd returning from the lecture. Before the window flowed a black human stream, among which were a large number of striplings, and young girls with cheeks covered with blushes.

When the stream finally pa.s.sed by, there appeared after an interval the bright, vernal forms of Hanka, Marynia, and Pani Otocka, in the company of Krzycki.

VIII

Upon the so called "happiest period" in Krzycki's life certain small shadows fell, and this for various reasons. If on the one hand his love for Hanka grew with each day, on the other there began various petty annoyances which his mother had foreseen. They were things almost imperceptible, about which one could not pick a quarrel, but which nevertheless stung. Thus it happened that the ladies of Gorek came to Pani Krzycki to invite her to the wedding of Kajetana to Pan Dolhanski, which wedding through a special dispensation of the church was to take place in a few days. Pani Krzycki in tendering them her good wishes announced that they could also do the same to her, owing to the betrothal of her son to Miss Anney. Then both, one after the other, began to heartily embrace her, which, though apparently a sign of their good wishes, looked more like condolence, the more so as Pani Wlocek did not utter anything besides the words, "It is G.o.d's will," while Kajetana raised her eyes as piously as if she wanted to supplicate the Powers on high to comfort the heartbroken mother. Ladislaus laughed after their departure, but in his soul he wished that both would break their necks. When, however, a few days later it appeared that out of the entire circle of acquaintances only Hanka did not receive an invitation from these ladies, he wanted to start a brawl with Dolhanski: and his mother was barely able to restrain him with the declaration that neither she herself, nor Zosia, nor Marynia would attend the wedding. Krzycki was even angered because some of his acquaintances, in contrast to the ladies of Gorek, tendered to him their good wishes with excessive ardor, as if he had performed an heroic act. His marriage, as well as the antecedents of Hanka, became the subject of every conversation in "society." Out in the world, great political changes could take place, bombs could explode, strikes could break out, but in the salons for a few days only Hanka was spoken of, various flabby dames, with eyes half closed, in a questioning tone, drawling through their teeth, "Anka--Skubanka[12]--n'est ce pas?" But while the good wishes of those who tendered them to Krzycki with such excessive ardor sprang from appreciation of the heroism with which he dared to take as wife "Skubanka," Hanka's marriage settlement and the hope of "plucking" the millionaire in the future played an important role. This marriage settlement, which, agreeably with Pani Krzycki's antic.i.p.ations, was, for local conditions, quite considerable, but by no means reached the millions, grew in public opinion with almost every hour, so that it attained almost fabulous proportions, and intensified the universal curiosity to the extent that when Hanka in the company of her two young female friends together with Pani Krzycki and her fiance appeared at the races, all the lorgnettes were directed at their carriage. The flabby dames from "high life," gazing at her radiant countenance, sparkling with happiness and health, indeed said that they could at once surmise that "this is something a little different," and contended that in the present days this "high life" ought to open its delicate bosom to a person possessing such means for "doing good." As to her comeliness, however, the opinion prevailed that she was not sufficiently pretty for one to lose his head and that Krzycki was marrying for money. His defence was undertaken only by the ladies from Gorek, who, meeting now many people, made it everywhere understood that their young neighbor did not always seek merely money, and that only when he was disappointed in other fancies, did he come to the conclusion that it was better to have money than nothing.

Thus did things shape themselves externally. But on the sky of the betrothed pair appeared tiny clouds which, as Ladislaus' love became inflamed, appeared even with greater frequency. Hanka, habituated to English customs, did not at all hesitate to receive her fiance at her home and pa.s.s with him long hours alone; to stroll with him over the city, to drive from the city without a chaperon, and even call him by his Christian name. She said to herself that in great and sincere love there also should be room for friendship and that it was necessary before one became a wife to be a sincere friend and comrade. She thought that Ladislaus would understand this and not only would love her all the more but also cherish her all the more. Once she had read in an English book that one might love and not cherish, and that in such a case love grows embittered to the degree that it may become perpetual unhappiness. So, desiring to avoid this and place her future life upon immovable foundations, she wished to win, besides love, the deepest possible friendship.

But here the misunderstandings between the engaged couple began. That golden-hair, that good friend, gazing with a heavenly light, that rose-colored, gay comrade who dressed herself in a light dress and spring hat, was so charming that Ladislaus cherished indeed without limit, but at every tete-a-tete lost his head. To Hanka it appeared that her betrothed, though he was enamoured to distraction and at the same time was a friend, should be the kind of a man upon whose shoulders she could at every moment press her head with perfect confidence that he would not abuse her trust and would not take advantage of their seclusion nor of any temporary weakness, nor of the gray hour, nor of the fact that love disarms and weakens a woman. He, on the contrary, perhaps because he lost his head, acted as if he thought that friendship and the relations of a comrade only added to the rights of betrothal. From this there was generated a mutual vigilance; in him a watchfulness for everything of which he might take advantage; in her a wariness of that which she ought to avoid. This vigilance, at first silent, soon lapsed into quarrels. They were followed by apologies, which would have intensified the love of both were it not that Ladislaus apologized too pa.s.sionately. And this misunderstanding was in reality deeper than both thought, for when Hanka, remembering what once had taken place between them, believed that he should on that account be more continent, he, in moments when blinded by desire, seemed to fancy that very past, together with the burnt bridges, justified him in everything. From these causes, the enchanted edifice of their happiness from time to time became defaced and would have been defaced yet more strongly were it not for this, that in Ladislaus there was material for everything and there came upon him moments entirely different. Sometimes on clear nights when they sat on the balcony leading to the garden of Hanka's residence, and when from the neighboring balcony came the song of Marynia's violin, and the moonlight seemed to sleep quietly on the opposite walls, it also put to slumber Ladislaus' senses. His soul, lulled to sleep by the sight of the beloved being, bleaching like a white angel in the dusk,--intoxicated with the fragrance of leaves and flowers, winged by music, was dissolved into a kind of universal but sweet and chaste feeling, which enveloped Hanka and bore her towards the stars. The impressionable soul of the girl at such times was susceptible of this and was simply submerged in happiness.

But these were transitory moments of tranquillity of mind. A moment later, while Ladislaus was bidding her good-night and when he kissed her hands and forehead, quickly there was awakened in him the eternal hungry desire, and he sought her lips and hugged her breast to his own; he lost his memory, and, when she broke away from his arms, he said that he did not promise her that he would be an English Quaker; and they parted, if not angry, as if both were humiliated and sad.

And that sadness fraternized with love.

But it often happened that Ladislaus disarmed Hanka with his great frankness which in reality was his chief attribute.

"You, my Ha.n.u.sia," he said to her once, after serious quarrel, "would want that I should mount a ladder and stay on the highest round, for a time--Good!--I can! But to stay there forever I could not do any more than I could walk on stilts all the time. Do not imagine that I am something more than I am. I am an ordinary mortal, who only differs from others in this, that he loves you above everything."

"No, Laudie," answered Hanka, "I do not at all desire that you should be some great personage, for I remember that the Englishmen say that an honest man is the n.o.blest work of G.o.d."

"I did a little mischief once, but I think I am honest."

"Yes, but remember that not he is honest who does not do evil, but he who does good. In that everything is contained."

"I agree to that. You will teach me that."

"And you me."