CHAPTER XLIX
Pan Ignas wished the betrothal to be not in the evening before people, but earlier; and his wish was gratified all the more, since Lineta, who wished to show herself to people as already betrothed, supported him before Aunt Bronich. They felt freer thus; and when people began to assemble they appeared as a young couple. The light of happiness shone from Lineta. She found a charm in that rôle of betrothed; and the rôle added charm to her. In her slender form there was something winged. Her eyelids did not fall to-day sleepily over her eyes; those eyes were full of light, her lips of smiles, her face was in blushes. She was so beautiful that Svirski, seeing her, could not refrain from quiet sighs for the lost paradise, and found calmness for his soul only when he remembered his favorite song, —
“I am singing and not sobbing,
For I have ceased to love thee too!
Hu-ha-hu!”
For that matter her beauty struck every one that day. Old Zavilovski, who had himself brought in his chair to the drawing-room, held her hands and gazed at her for a time; then, looking around at his daughter, he said, —
“Well, such a Venetian half-devil can turn the head, she can, and especially the head of a poet, for in the heads of those gentlemen is fiu, fiu! as people say.”
Then he turned to the young man and asked, —
“Well, wilt thou break my neck to-day because I said Venetian half-devil to thee?”
Pan Ignas laughed, and, bending his head, kissed the old man’s shoulder. “No; I could not break any one’s neck to-day.”
“Well,” said the old man, evidently rejoiced at those marks of honor, “may God and the Most Holy Lady bless you both! I say the Most Holy Lady, for her protection is the basis.”
When he had said this, he began to search behind in the chair, and, drawing forth a large jewel-case, said to Lineta, —
“This is from the family of the Zavilovskis; God grant thee to wear it long!”
Lineta, taking the box, bent her charming figure to kiss him on the shoulder; he embraced her neck, and said to the bridegroom, —
“But thou might come.”
And he kissed both on the forehead, and said, with greater emotion than he wished to show, —
“Now love and revere each other, like honest people.”
Lineta opened the case, in which on a sapphire-colored satin cushion gleamed a splendid
rivière
of diamonds. The old man said once more with emphasis, “From the family of the Zavilovskis,” wishing evidently to show that the young lady who married a Zavilovski, even without property, was not doing badly. But no one heard him, for the heads of the ladies – of Lineta, Pani Aneta, Pani Mashko, Pani Bronich and even Marynia – bent over the flashing stones; and breath was stopped in their mouths for a time, till at last a murmur of admiration and praise broke the silence.
“It is not a question of diamonds!” cried Pani Bronich, casting herself almost into the arms of old Zavilovski, “but as the gift, so the heart.”
“Do not mention it Pani; do not mention it!” said the old man, warding her off.
Now the society broke into pairs or small groups; the betrothed were so occupied with each other that the whole world vanished from before them. Osnovski and Svirski went up to Marynia and Pani Bigiel. Kopovski undertook to entertain the lady of the house; Pan Stanislav was occupied with Pani Mashko. As to Mashko himself, he was anxious evidently to make a nearer acquaintance with the Crsus, for he so fenced him off with his armchair that no one could approach him, and began then to talk of remote times and the present, which, as he divined easily, had become a favorite theme for the old man.
But he was too keen-witted to be of Zavilovski’s opinion in all things. Moreover, the old man did not attack recent times always; nay, he admired them in part. He acknowledged that in many regards they were moving toward the better; still he could not take them in. But Mashko explained to him that everything must change on earth; hence nobles, as well as other strata of society.
“I, respected sir,” said he, “hold to the land through a certain inherited instinct, – through that something which attracts to land the man who came from it; but, while managing my own property, I am an advocate, and I am one on principle. We should have our own people in that department; if we do not, we shall be at the mercy of men coming from other spheres, and often directly opposed to us. And I must render our landholders this justice, that for the greater part they understand this well, and choose to confide their business to me rather than to others. Some think it even a duty.”
“The bar has been filled from our ranks at all times,” answered Pan Zavilovski; “but will the noble succeed in other branches? As God lives, I cannot tell. I hear, and hear that we ought to undertake everything; but people forget that to undertake and to succeed are quite different. Show me the man who has succeeded.”
“Here he is, respected sir, Pan Polanyetski: he in a commission house has made quite a large property; and what he has is in ready cash, so that he could put it all on the table to-morrow. He will not deny that my counsels have been of profit to him frequently; but what he has made, he has made through commerce, mainly in grain.”
“Indeed, indeed!” said the old noble, gazing at Pan Stanislav, and staring from wonder, “has he really made property? Is it possible? Is he of the real Polanyetskis? That’s a good family.”
“And that stalwart man with brown hair?”
“Is Svirski the artist.”
“I know him, for I saw him abroad; and the Svirskis did not make fires as an occupation.”
“But he can only paint money, for he hasn’t made any.”
“He hasn’t!” said Mashko, in a confidential tone. “Not one big estate in Podolia will give as much income as aquarelles give him.”
“What is that?”
“Pictures in water-colors.”
“Is it possible? not even oil paintings! And he too – ? Ha! then, perhaps, my relative will make something at verses. Let him write; let him write. I will not take it ill of him. Pan Zygmund was a noble, and he wrote, and not for display. Pan Adam was a noble also; but he is famous, – more famous than that brawler who has worked with democracy – What’s his name? Never mind! You say that times are changing. Hm, are they? Let them change for themselves, if only with God’s help, for the better.”
“The main thing,” said Mashko, “is not to shut up a man’s power in his head, nor capital in chests; whoever does that, simply sins against society.”
“Well, but with permission! How do you understand this, – Am I not free to close with a key what belongs to me; must I leave my chests open to a robber?”
Mashko smiled with a shade of loftiness, and, putting his hand on the arm of the chair, said, —
“That is not the question, respected sir.” And then he began to explain the principles of political economy to Pan Zavilovski; the old noble listened, nodding his head, and repeating from time to time, —
“Indeed! that is something new! but I managed without it.”
Pani Bronich followed the betrothed with eyes full of emotion, and at the same time told Plavitski (who on his part was following Pani Aneta with eyes not less full of emotion) about the years of her youth, her life with Teodor, and the misfortune which met them because of the untimely arrival in the world of their only descendant, and Plavitski listened with distraction; but, moved at last by her own narrative, she said with a somewhat quivering voice, —
“So all my love, hope, and faith are in Lineta. You will understand this, for you too have a daughter. And as to Lolo, just think what a blessing that child would have been had he lived, since even dead he rendered us so much service – ”
“Immensely touching, immensely touching!” interrupted Plavitski.
“Oh, it is true,” continued Pani Bronich. “How often in harvest time did my husband run with the cry, ‘Lolo monte!’ and send out all his laboring men to the field. With others, wheat sprouted in the shocks, with us, never. Oh, true! And the loss was the greater in this, that that was our last hope. My husband was a man in years, and I can say that for me he was the best of protectors; but after this misfortune, only a protector.”
“Here I cease to understand him,” said Plavitski. “Ha, ha! I fail altogether to understand him.”
And, opening his mouth, he looked roguishly at Pani Bronich; she slapped him lightly with her fan, and said, —
“These men are detestable; for them there is nothing sacred.”
“Who is that, a real Perugino, – that pale lady, with whom your husband is talking?” asked Svirski now of Marynia.
“An acquaintance of ours, Pani Mashko. Have you not been presented to her?”
“Yes; I became acquainted with her yesterday at the funeral, but forget her name. I know that she is the wife of that gentleman who is talking with old Pan Zavilovski. A pure Vannuci! The same quietism, and a little yellowish; but she has very beautiful lines in her form.”
And looking a little longer he added, —
“A quenched face, but uncommon lines in the whole figure. As it were slender; look at the outline of her arms and shoulders.”
But Marynia was not looking at the outlines of the arms and shoulders of Pani Mashko, but at her husband; and on her face alarm was reflected on a sudden. Pan Stanislav was just inclining toward Pani Mashko and telling her something which Marynia could not hear, for they were sitting at a distance; but it seemed to her that at times he gazed into that quenched face and those pale eyes with the same kind of look with which during their journey after marriage he had gazed at her sometimes. Ah, she knew that look! And her heart began now to beat, as if feeling some great danger. But immediately she said to herself, “That cannot be! That would be unworthy of Stas.” Still she could not refrain from looking at them. Pan Stanislav was telling something very vivaciously, which Pani Mashko listened to with her usual indifference. Marynia thought again: “Something only seemed to me! He is speaking vivaciously as usual, but nothing more.” The remnant of her doubt was destroyed by Svirski, who, either because he noticed her alarm and inquiring glance, or because he did not notice the expression on Pan Stanislav’s face, said, —
“With all this she says nothing. Your husband must keep up the conversation, and he looks at once weary and angry.”
Marynia’s face grew radiant in one instant. “Oh, you are right! Stas is annoyed a little, surely; and the moment he is annoyed he is angry.”
And she fell into perfect good-humor. She would have been glad to give a
rivière
of diamonds, like that which Pan Zavilovski had brought to Lineta, to make “Stas” approach at that moment, to say something herself to him, and hear a kind word from him. In fact, a few minutes later her wish was accomplished, for Osnovski approached Pani Mashko; Pan Stanislav rose, and, saying a word or two on the way to Pani Aneta, who was talking to Kopovski, sat down at last by his wife.
“Dost wish to tell me something?” he inquired.
“How wonderful it is, Stas, for I called to thee that moment, but only in mind; still thou hast felt and art here with me.”
“See what a husband I am,” answered he, with a smile. “But the reason is really very simple: I noticed thee looking at me; I was afraid that something might have happened, and I came.”
“I was looking, for I wanted something.”
“And I came, for I wanted something. How dost thou feel? Tell the truth! Perhaps thou hast a wish to go home?”
“No, Stas, as I love thee, I am perfectly comfortable. I was talking with Pan Svirski of Pani Mashko, and was entertained well.”
“I guessed that you were gossiping about her. This artist says himself that he has an evil tongue.”
“On the contrary,” answered Svirski, “I was only admiring her form. The turn for my tongue may come later.”
“Oh, that is true,” said Pan Stanislav; “Pani Osnovski says that she has indeed a bad figure, and that is proof that she has a good one. But, Marynia, I will tell thee something of Pani Osnovski.” Here he bent toward his wife, and whispered, “Knowest what I heard from Kopovski’s lips when I was coming to thee?”
“What was it? Something amusing?”
“Just as one thinks: I heard him say thou to Pani Aneta.”
“Stas!”
“As I love thee, he did. He said to her, ‘Thou art always so.’”
“Maybe he was quoting some other person’s words.”
“I don’t know. Maybe he was; maybe he wasn’t. Besides, they may have been in love sometime.”
“Fi! Be ashamed.”
“Say that to them – or rather to Pani Aneta.”
Marynia, who knew perfectly well that unfaithfulness exists, but looking on it rather as some French literary theory, – she had not even imagined that one might meet such a thing at every step and in practice, – began to look now at Pani Aneta with wonder, and at the same time with the immense curiosity with which honest women look at those who have had boldness to leave the high-road for by-paths. She had too truthful a nature, however, to believe in evil immediately, and she did not; and somehow it would not find a place in her head that really there could be anything between those two, if only because of the unheard-of stupidity of Kopovski. She noticed, however, that they were talking with unusual vivacity.
But they, sitting somewhat apart between a great porcelain vase and the piano, had not only been talking, but arguing for a quarter of an hour.
“I fear that he has heard something,” said Pani Aneta, with a certain alarm, after Pan Stanislav had passed. “Thou art never careful.”
“Yes, it is always my fault! But who is forever repeating, ‘Be careful’?”
In this regard both were truly worthy of each other, since he could foresee nothing because of his dulness, and she was foolhardy to recklessness. Two persons knew their secret now; others might divine it. One needed all the infatuation of Osnovski not to infer anything. But it was on that that she reckoned.
Meanwhile Kopovski looked at Pan Stanislav and said, —
“He has heard nothing.”
Then he returned to the conversation which they had begun; but now he spoke in lower tones and in French, —
“Didst thou love me, thou wouldst be different; but since thou dost not love, what harm could that be to thee?”
Then he turned on her his wonderful eyes without mind, while she answered impatiently, —
“Whether I love, or love not, Castelka never! Dost understand? Never! I would prefer any other to her, though, if thou wert in love with me really, thou wouldst not think of marriage.”
“I would not think of it, if thou wert different.”
“Be patient.”
“Yes! till death? If I married Castelka, we should then be near really.”
“Never! I repeat to thee.”
“Well, but why?”
“Thou wouldst not understand it. Besides, Castelka is betrothed; it is too bad to lose time in discussing this.”
“Thou thyself hast commanded me to pay court to her, and now art casting reproaches. At first I thought of nothing; but afterward she pleased me, – I do not deny this. She pleases all; and, besides, she is a good match.”
Pani Aneta began to pull at the end of her handkerchief.
“And thou hast the boldness to say to my eyes that she pleased thee,” said she at last. “Is it I, or she?”
“Thou, but thee I cannot marry; her I could, for I saw well that I pleased her.”
“If thou wert better acquainted with women, thou wouldst be glad that I did not let it go to marriage. Thou dost not know her. She is just like a stick, and, besides, is malicious in character. Dost thou not understand that I told thee to pay court to her out of regard to people, and to Yozio? Otherwise, how explain thy daily visits?”
“I could understand, wert thou other than thou art.”
“Do not oppose me. I have fixed all, as thou seest, to keep thy portrait from being finished, and give thee a chance to visit Prytulov. Steftsia Ratkovski, a distant relative of Yozio’s, will be there soon. Dost understand? Thou must pretend that she pleases thee; and I will talk what I like into Yozio. In this way thou wilt be able to stop at Prytulov. I have written to Panna Ratkovski already. She is not a beauty, but agreeable.”
“Always pretence, and nothing for it.”
“Suppose I should say to thee: Don’t come.”
“Anetka!”
“Then be patient. I cannot be angry long with thee. But now go thy way. Amuse Pani Mashko.”
And a moment later Pani Aneta was alone. Her eyes followed Kopovski a while with the remnant of her anger, but also with a certain tenderness. In the white cravat, with his dark tint of face, he was so killingly beautiful that she could not gaze at him sufficiently. Lineta was now the betrothed of another; still the thought seemed unendurable that that daily rival of hers might possess him, if not as husband, as lover. Pani Aneta, in telling Kopovski that she would yield him to any other rather than to Castelka, told the pure truth. That was for her a question, at once of an immense weakness for that dull Endymion, and a question of self-love. Her nerves simply could not agree to it. Certain inclinations of the senses, which she herself looked on as lofty, and rising from a Grecian nature, but which at the root of the matter were common, took the place in her of morality and conscience. By virtue of these inclinations, she fell under the irresistible charm of Kopovski; but having not only a heated head, but a temperament of fishy coldness, she preferred, as Pan Ignas divined intuitively, the play with evil to evil itself. Holding, in her way, to the principle, “If not I, then no one!” she was ready to push matters to the utmost to prevent the marriage of Kopovski to Lineta, the more since she saw that Lineta, in spite of all her “words” about Kopovski, in spite of the irony with which she had mentioned him and her jests about the man, was also under the charm of his exceptional beauty; that all those jests were simply self-provocation, under which was concealed an attraction; and that, in general, the source of her pleasure and Lineta’s was the same. But she did not observe that, for this reason, she at the bottom of her soul had contempt for Lineta.
She knew that Lineta, through very vanity, would not oppose her persuasion, and the homages of a man with a famous name. In this way, she had retained Kopovski, and, besides, had produced for herself a splendid spectacle, on which women, who are more eager for impressions than feelings, look always with greediness. Besides, if that famous Pan Ignas, when his wife becomes an every-day object, should look somewhere for a Beatrice, he might find her. Little is denied men who have power to hand down, to the memory of mankind and the homage of ages, the name of a loved one. These plans for the future Pani Aneta had not outlined hitherto expressly; but she had, as it were, a misty feeling that her triumph would in that case be perfect.
Moreover, she had triumphed even now, for all had gone as she wished. Still Kopovski made her angry. She had considered him as almost her property. Meanwhile, she saw that, so far as he was able to understand anything, he understood this, that the head does not ache from abundance, and that Aneta might not hinder Lineta. That roused her so keenly that at moments she was thinking how to torment him in return. Meanwhile, she was glad that Lineta paraded herself as being in love really, soul and heart, with Pan Ignas, which for Kopovski was at once both a riddle and a torture.
These thoughts flew through her head like lightning, and flew all of them in the short time that she was alone. At last she was interrupted by the serving of supper. Osnovski, who desired that his wife should be surrounded by such homage from every one as he himself gave, and to whom it seemed that what he had said to Pan Ignas about his married life was very appropriate, had the unhappy thought to repeat at the first toast the wish that Pan Ignas might be as happy with Lineta as he with his wife. Hereupon, the eyes of Pan Ignas and Pan Stanislav turned involuntarily to Pani Osnovski, who looked quickly at Pan Stanislav, and doubts on both sides disappeared in one instant; that is, she gained the perfect certainty that Pan Stanislav had heard them, and he, that Kopovski had not quoted the words of another, but had said
thou
in direct speech to the lady. Pani Aneta had guessed even that Pan Stanislav must have spoken of that to Marynia, for she had seen how, after he had passed, both had talked and looked a certain time at her with great curiosity. The thought filled her with anger and a desire of revenge, so that she listened without attention to the further toasts, which were given by her husband, by Pan Ignas, by Plavitski, and at last by Pan Bigiel.
But, after supper, it came to her head all at once to arrange a dancing-party; and “Yozio,” obedient as ever to each beck of hers, and, besides, excited after feasting, supported the thought enthusiastically. Marynia could not dance, but besides her there were five youthful ladies, – Lineta, Pani Osnovski, Pani Bigiel, Pani Mashko, and Panna Zavilovski. The last declared, it is true, that she did not dance; but, since people said that she neither danced, talked, ate, nor drank, her refusal did not stop the readiness of others. Osnovski, who was in splendid feeling, declared that Ignas should take Lineta in his arms, for surely he had not dared to do so thus far.
It turned out, however, that Pan Ignas could not avail himself of Pan Osnovski’s friendly wishes, for he had never danced in his life, and had not the least knowledge of dancing, which not only astonished Pani Bronich and Lineta, but offended them somewhat. Kopovski, on the other hand, possessed this art in a high degree; hence he began the dance with Lineta, as the heroine of the evening. They were a splendid pair, and eyes followed them involuntarily. Pan Ignas was forced to see her golden head incline toward Kopovski’s shoulder, to see their bosoms near each other, to see both whirling to the time of Bigiel’s waltz, joined in the harmony of movement, blending, as it were, into one tune and one unity. Even from looking at all this, he grew angry, for he understood that there was a thing which he did not know, which would connect Lineta with others and disconnect her with him. Besides, people about him mentioned the beauty of the dancing couple; and Svirski, sitting near him, said, —
“What a beautiful man! If there were male houris, as there are female, he might be a houri in a Mussulman paradise for women.”
They waltzed long; and there was in the tones of the music, as in their movements, something, as it were, intoxicating, a kind of dizzy faintness, which incensed Pan Ignas still more, for he recalled Byron’s verses on waltzing, – verses as cynical as they are truthful. At last, he said to himself, with complete impatience: “When will that ass let her go?” He feared, too, that Kopovski might tire her too much.
The “ass” let her go at last at the other end of the hall, and straightway took Pani Aneta. But Lineta ran up to her betrothed, and, sitting down at his side, said, —
“He dances well, but he likes to exhibit his skill, for he has nothing else. He kept me too long. I have lost breath a little, and my heart is beating. If you could put your hand there and feel how it beats – but it is not proper to do so. How wonderful, too, for it is your property.”
“My property!” said Pan Ignas, holding out his hand to her. “Do not say ‘your’ to me to-day, Lineta.”
“Thy property,” she whispered, and she did not ward off his hand, she only let it drop down a little on her robe, so that people might not notice it.
“I was jealous of him,” said Pan Ignas, pressing her fingers passionately.
“Dost wish I will dance no more to-day? I like to dance, but I prefer to be near thee.”
“My worshipped one!”
“I am a stupid society girl, but I want to be worthy of thee. As thou seest, I love music greatly, – even waltzes and polkas. Somehow they act on me wonderfully. How well this Pan Bigiel plays! But I know that there are things higher than waltzes. Hold my handkerchief, and drop my hand for a moment. It is thy hand, but I must arrange my hair. It is time to dance; to dance is not wrong, is it? But if thou wish, I will not dance, for I am an obedient creature. I will learn to read in thy eyes, and afterward shall be like water, which reflects both clouds and clear weather. So pleasant is it for me near thee! See how perfectly those people dance!”
Words failed Pan Ignas; only in one way could he have shown what he felt, – by kneeling before her. But she pointed out Pan Stanislav, who was dancing with Pani Mashko, and admired them heartily.
“Really he dances better than Pan Kopovski,” said she, with gleaming eyes; “and she, how graceful! Oh, I should like to dance even once with him – if thou permit.”
Pan Ignas, in whom Pan Stanislav did not rouse the least jealousy, said, —
“My treasure, as often as may please thee. I will send him at once to thee.”
“Oh, how perfectly he dances! how perfectly! And this waltz, it is like some delightful shiver. They are sailing, not dancing.”
Of this opinion, too, was Marynia, who, following the couple with her eyes, experienced a still greater feeling of bitterness than Pan Ignas a little while earlier; for it seemed a number of times to her that Pan Stanislav had looked again on Pani Mashko with that expression with which he had looked when Svirski supposed that either he was annoyed, or was angry. But now such a supposition was impossible. At moments both dancers passed near her; and then she saw distinctly how his arm embraced firmly Pani Mashko’s waist, how his breath swept around her neck, how his nostrils were dilated, how his glances slipped over her naked bosom. That might be invisible for others, but not for Marynia, who could read in his face as in a book. And all at once the light of the lamps became dark in her eyes; she understood that it was one thing not to be happy, and another to be unhappy. This lasted briefly, – as briefly as one tact of the waltz, or one instant in which a heart that is straitened ceases to beat; but it sufficed for the feeling that life in the future might be embroiled, and present love changed into a bitter and contemptuous sorrow. And that feeling filled her with terror. Before her was drawn aside, as it were, a curtain, behind which appeared unexpectedly all the sham of life, all the wretchedness and meanness of human nature. Nothing had happened yet, absolutely nothing; but a vision came to Marynia, in which she saw that there might be a time when her confidence in her husband would vanish like smoke.
She tried, however, to ward away doubts; she wished to talk into herself that he was under the influence of the dance, not of his partner; she preferred not to believe her eyes. Sham