Children of the Soil

“Do I not understand, think you, whence that resolve came? She does not wish to violate her religious principles in any way, but she wants to die as soon as possible; she knows that those duties are beyond her strength, and therefore she assumes them.”

“True,” answered Marynia; and she inclined her face so closely to her work that Pan Stanislav saw only the parting of the dark hair on her small head. Before her stood a box full of pearls, which she was sewing on to various articles to be used in a lottery for benevolent purposes; and tears, which were flowing from her eyes, began to drop on those pearls.

“I see that you are weeping,” said Pan Stanislav.

She raised tearful eyes to him, as if to say, “Before thee I shall not hide tears,” and answered, “I know that Emilia is doing well, but such a pity – ”

Pan Stanislav, partly from emotion, and partly because he knew not himself what to answer, kissed her hand for the first time.

Pearls began then to drop more thickly from Marynia’s eyes, so that she had to rise and go out. Pan Stanislav approached the players, as Plavitski was saying in a sour, outspoken tone, to his partner, —

“Rubicon after Rubicon. Ha! it is difficult. You represent new times, and I old traditions. I must be beaten.”

“What has that to do with piquet?” asked Bigiel, calmly.

Marynia returned soon, with the announcement that tea was ready; her eyes were somewhat red, but her face was clear and calm. When, a little later, Bigiel and Plavitski sat down at cards again, she conversed with Pan Stanislav in that quiet, confiding tone which people use who are very near to each other, and who have many mutual relations. It is true that those mutual relations between them had been created by the death of Litka and the misfortune of Pani Emilia, – hence the conversation could not be gladsome; but in spite of that, Marynia’s eyes, if not her lips, smiled at Pan Stanislav, and were at once thoughtful and clear.

Later in the evening, after his departure, Marynia did not name him in her mind, when she thought of him, otherwise, than “Pan Stas.”

Pan Stanislav, on his part, returned home feeling calmer by far than he had since Litka’s death. While pacing his chamber, he made frequent halts before the little girl’s photograph, and looked, too, at the four birches painted by Marynia. He thought that the bond fastened between him and Marynia by Litka was becoming closer each day, as if without any one’s will, and simply by some mysterious force of things. He thought, too, that if he lacked the former original desire to make that bond permanent, his courage would almost fail to cut it decisively, especially so soon after Litka’s death. Late in the night he sat down to the lists sent by Mashko. At times, however, he made mistakes in the reckoning, for he saw before him Marynia’s head inclining forward, and her tears falling on the box of pearls.

Next morning he bought the oak in Kremen, very profitably, for that matter.

CHAPTER XXII

Mashko returned in two weeks from St. Petersburg, well pleased with his arrangements for credit, and bringing important news, which had come to him, as he stated, in a way purely confidential, – news not known yet to any man. The preceding harvest had been very poor throughout the whole empire; here and there hunger had begun to appear. It was easy to divine, therefore, that, before spring, supplies would be gone in whole neighborhoods, and that the catastrophe of hunger might become universal. In view of this, people of the inner circle began to whisper about the chance of stopping the grain export; and this kind of echo Mashko brought back, with the assurance that it came to his ears through people extremely well versed in affairs. This news struck Pan Stanislav so vividly that he shut himself in for some days, pencil in hand; then he hurried to Bigiel with the proposition that the ready money at command of the house, as well as its credit, should be turned to prompt purchases of grain. Bigiel was afraid, but he began by being afraid of every new enterprise. Pan Stanislav did not conceal from him that this would be a large operation, on the success or failure of which their fate might depend. Complete failure, however, was little likely, and success might make them really rich at one sweep. It was to be foreseen that, in view of the lack of grain, prices would rise in every event. It was also to be foreseen that the law would limit the possibility of making new contracts with foreign merchants, but would respect contracts made before its promulgation; but even if it failed in this regard, the rise of prices in the country itself was a thing almost certain. Pan Stanislav had foreseen and calculated everything, in so far as man could; and Bigiel, who, in spite of his caution, was a person of judgment, was forced to confess that the chances of success were really considerable, and that it would be a pity to miss the opportunity.

In fact, after a number of new consultations, during which Bigiel’s opposition grew weaker and weaker, they decided on that which Pan Stanislav wished; and after a certain time their chief agent, Abdulski, went out with power to make contracts in the name of the house, as well for grain on hand as for grain not threshed yet.

After Abdulski’s departure, Bigiel went to Prussia. Pan Stanislav remained alone at the head of the house, toiled from morning till evening, and made scarcely a visit. But time did not drag, for he was roused by hope of great profit and a future of fuller activity.

Pan Stanislav, in throwing himself into that speculation, and drawing in Bigiel, did so, first of all, because he thought it good; but he had another thought, too, – the mercantile house with all its affairs was too narrow a field for his special training, abilities, and energies, and Pan Stanislav felt this. Finally, what was the question in affairs handled by the house? To buy cheap, sell dear, and put the profit in a safe; that was its one object. Purchases direct, or through another, – nothing more. Pan Stanislav felt confined in those limits. “I should like to dig up something, or make something,” said he to Bigiel, in moments of dissatisfaction and distaste; “at the root of the matter we are simply trying to direct to our own pockets some current from that stream of money which is flowing in the business of men, but we produce nothing.”

And that was true. Pan Stanislav wished to advance to property, to acquire capital, and then undertake some very large work, giving a wider field for labor and creativeness.

The opportunity had come, as it seemed to him; hence he grasped with both hands at it. “I will think of other things afterward,” thought he.

By “other things,” he meant his affairs of mind and heart, – that is, his relations to religion, people, country, woman. He understood that to be at rest in life one must explain these relations, and stand on firm feet. There are men who all their lives do not know their position with reference to these principles, and whom every wind turns toward a new point. Pan Stanislav felt that a man should not live thus. In his state of mind, as it then was, he saw that these questions might be decided in a manner direct to dryness, as well as positive to materialism, and in general negatively; but he understood that they must be decided.

“I wish to know clearly whether I am bound to something or not,” thought he.

Meanwhile he labored, and saw people little; he could not withdraw from them altogether. He convinced himself, also, that questions most intimately personal cannot be decided otherwise than internally, otherwise than by one’s own brain or heart, within the four walls of the body; but that most frequently certain external influences, certain people, near or distant, hasten the end of meditation, and the decisions flowing from it. This happened at his farewell with Pani Emilia, who was now shortening daily, and almost feverishly, the time before her entrance on her novitiate with the Sisters of Charity.

Amid all his occupations, Pan Stanislav did not cease to visit her; but a number of times he failed to find her at home. Once he met Pani Bigiel at her house, and also Pani and Panna Kraslavski, whose presence constrained him in a high degree. Afterward, when Marynia informed him that Pani Emilia would begin her novitiate in a few days, he went to take farewell of her.

He found her calm and almost joyous, but his heart was pained when he looked at her. Her face was transparent in places, as if formed of pearl; the blue veins appeared through the skin on her temples.

She was very beautiful, in a style almost unearthly, but Pan Stanislav thought: “I will take the last leave of her, for she will not hold out even a month; from one more attachment, one more grief and unhappiness.”

She spoke to him of her decision as of a thing the most usual, to be understood of itself, – the natural outcome of what had happened, the natural refuge from a life deprived of every basis. Pan Stanislav understood that for him to dissuade her would be purely conscienceless, and an act devoid of sense.

“Will you remain in Warsaw?” asked he.

“I will, for I wish to be near Litka; and the mother superior promised that I should be in the house first, and afterward, when I learn something, in one of the hospitals. Unless unusual events come to pass, while I am in the house I shall be free to visit Litka every Sunday.”

Pan Stanislav set his teeth, and was silent; he looked only at the delicate hands of Pani Emilia, thinking in his soul, —

“She wishes to nurse the sick with those hands.”

But at the same time he divined that she wanted, beyond all, something else. He felt that under her calmness and resignation there was immense pain, strong as death, and calling for death with all the powers of her heart and soul; but she wished death to come without her fault, not through her sin, but her service, – her reward for that service was to be her union with Litka.

And now, for the first time, Pan Stanislav understood the difference between pain and pain, between sorrow and sorrow. He, too, loved Litka; but in him, besides sorrow for her, and remembrance of her, there was something else, – a certain interest in life, a certain curiosity touching the future, certain desires, thoughts, tendencies. To Pani Emilia there remained nothing, – it was as if she had died with Litka; and if anything in the world occupied her yet, if she loved those who were near her, it was only for Litka, through Litka, and in so far as they were connected with Litka.

These visits and that farewell were oppressive to Pan Stanislav. He had been deeply attached to Pani Emilia, but now he had the feeling that the cord binding them had snapped once and forever, that their roads parted at that moment, for he was going farther by the way of life; she, however, wished her life to burn out as quickly as possible, and had chosen labor, – blessed, it is true, – but beyond her strength, so as to make death come more quickly.

This thought closed his lips. In the last moments, however, the attachment which he had felt for her from of old overcame him; and he spoke with genuine emotion while kissing her hand.

“Dear, very dear lady, may God guard and comfort you!”

Here words failed him; but she said, without dropping his hand, —

“Till I die, I shall not forget you, since you loved Litka so much. I know, from Marynia, that Litka united you and her; and for that reason I know that you will be happy, otherwise God would not have inspired her. As often as I see you in life, I shall think that Litka made you happy. Let her wish be accomplished at the earliest, and God bless you both!”

Pan Stanislav said nothing; but, when returning home, he thought, —

“Litka’s will! She does not even admit that Litka’s will can remain unaccomplished; and how was I to tell her that the other is not for me now what she once was?”

Still Pan Stanislav felt with increasing distinctness that it was not right to remain as he was any longer, and that those bonds connecting him with Marynia ought soon to be tightened, or broken, so as to end the strange condition, and the misunderstandings and sorrows which might rise from it. He felt the need of doing this quickly, so as to act with honor; and new alarm seized him, for it seemed that, no matter how he acted, his action would not bring him happiness.

When he reached home, he found a letter from Mashko, which read as follows, —

“I have called on thee twice to-day. Some lunatic has insulted me before my subordinates on account of the oak which I sold thee. His name is Gantovski. I need to speak with thee, and shall come again before evening.”

In fact, he ran in before the expiration of an hour, and asked, without removing his overcoat, —

“Dost thou know that Gantovski?”

“I know him; he is a neighbor and relative of the Plavitskis. What has happened, and how has it happened?”

Mashko removed his overcoat, and said, —

“I do not understand how news of the sale could get out, for I have not spoken of it to any one; and it was important for me that it should not become known.”

“Our agent, Abdulski, went to Kremen to look at the oak. Gantovski must have heard of the sale from him.”

“Listen; this is the event. To-day Gantovski’s card is brought into my office; not knowing who he is, I receive the man. A rough fellow enters, and asks if ’t is true that I sold the oak, and if I wish to depopulate a part of Kremen. Evidently I reply by asking how that may concern him. He answers that I have bound myself to pay old Plavitski a yearly annuity from Kremen; and that, if I ruin the place by a plundering management, there will be nothing through which to compel me. In answer, as thou canst understand, I advise him to take his cap, button up closely, in view of the frost, and go to the place whence he came. Hereupon he falls to making an uproar, calling me a cheat and a swindler. At last he says that he lives in the Hotel Saxe, and goes out. Hast thou the key to this? Canst thou tell me its meaning?”

“Of course. First, this Gantovski is of limited mind, by nature he is rude; second, for whole years he has been in love with Panna Plavitski, and has wished to be her knight.”