Whirlpools

"And who will?" asked Gronski.

"The future generations-not the pot-bellied, not the easy-natured, not the chatterboxes, not the indulgers in sensual delights and the pleasures of life-no-apparently they are good for everything and fit for nothing-but only the hardy, the persistent, the quiet, and the practical. For them, misfortune and slavery have tilled the ground for a hundred years."

"And the present day manures the ground," said Gronski, "only it is a pity that this manure has such a rank smell."

"That is not manure; that is sand blown from abroad which renders the soil sterile," replied the doctor with energy.

And he began to curse.

IX

Dolhanski, however, completely subdued his fiancée and his future mother-in-law, inasmuch as he prevailed upon them to call personally upon Hanka and invite her to the wedding. They were prompted to this by the consideration that at any rate it behooved them to preserve the outward semblance of good relations with their future neighbors from Jastrzeb, and they were persuaded in particular by the news, which he brought from the high spheres, that "high life" was reconciled to the idea of admitting Hanka into its fold, while he, on the other hand, wanted to see her at a close range in the church. After their visit, during which the mother and daughter, under the watchful eye of Dolhanski, acted not only properly but quite amiably, Pani Krzycki revoked her resolution, of not attending the nuptial rites.

These took place early in the week at the Church of the Order of Visitation in the presence of a great concourse of dames from the "grand world" and Dolhanski's titled colleagues from the club. In this the desire to take a close view of the peasant-millionairess played as important a part as the wish to see Dolhanski. Those of his acquaintances who knew the ladies from Gorek had previously stated that he was taking a lady of wealth, but old and ludicrous; in consequence of which these good colleagues wanted to see what kind of mien he would have, so that they might afterwards have a subject for their gibes and jests. But in this respect they met with the most complete disappointment. Dolhanski, escorted on one side by Gronski, on the other by Count Gil, walked through the church with such self-confidence, such sangfroid, and with such a smile on his lips, as though he had the right and desire to jeer at his colleagues. The tall and gaunt young lady did not, after all, look so badly in her lace wedding dress. She had too much powder on her face; her veil was too long, and too much did she "tremble like a leaf," which created an impression that this leaf did that a little purposely.

There was nothing in her, however, to excite ridicule, and, when the two knelt before the altar, the dames and beaux, looking from the depth of the church, had to admit that in her slender white form there was some charm. But the eyes of those present were directed principally at Hanka who glided through the nave on Ladislaus' arm, like a light spring cloud. To the gentlemen of the club it seemed that from the moment of her entrance the church grew brighter. Count Gil, who found himself near her, behind the stalls, later stated in a certain salon that a rosy warmth radiated from her. Others at once corroborated this and to the mot of a dame that in order to find favor in men's eyes it was necessary that one must not only be a woman but also a radiator, they replied that it was absolutely necessary.

In the meanwhile they envied Ladislaus Mr. Anney's millions and Hanka, who so absorbed to herself the general attention that Pani Otocka and Marynia passed by almost unobserved. Neither appeared to the best advantage that day. In Pani Otocka, Dolhanski's marriage aroused a certain disgust, which was reflected in her countenance, and Marynia opened her lips too widely out of curiosity, and besides, her bared arms were so thin and, as usual with immature girls, were so red that, they could only excite compassion. The ladies of the "grand world," besides, did not look at one or the other for the further reason that Ladislaus, with his stature and visage of a Uhlan of the time of the Duchy of Warsaw, became the focus upon which the rays of their tortoise-shell lorgnettes were converged.

With the appearance of the priest silence fell and the rites began. The lorgnettes were now directed towards the altar. In the distance could be seen floating under the orange blossoms the bridal veil and Dolhanski's head, somewhat bald at the summit, over which crept the reflexes of the candles flickering in the dusk. Krzycki, bending towards Hanka, began to whisper: "And we will soon-" and she dropped her eyelids in sign of assent; after which when their eyes met, she blushed violently and raised her lace handkerchief to her lips, and later fixed her gaze upon the altar, for she recalled to her mind how, not long before, the candles flickered in the same manner in the Church of the Holy Cross, when together they prayed for their future happiness. Yes, soon they would kneel there again in order not to be separated for life, and this thought, so full of sweetness and at the same time of uneasiness of feeling, expanded her breast.

In the meanwhile in the silence could be heard the voice of the priest: "Edward, do you take Kajetana, whom you see before you, for wife?" and when Dolhanski firmly confirmed this and Kajetana mumbled that she wanted this Edward, their hands were bound by the stole and the rites rapidly approached an end; then the hymeneal party left the church. The bridal couple were to leave for a tour abroad within two hours, but before that in the dining-hall of the hotel a dinner awaited them, to which, of the relatives of the groom, only Pani Krzycki, Ladislaus, Hanka, as his betrothed, and the sisters were invited; of the more distant, Gronski and Count Gil, as groomsmen attended. The dinner with the inevitable toasts did not last long; after it the newly-married pair repaired to their separate apartments and after a certain time reappeared attired in their travelling clothes. Then began the usual bustle preceding a journey; trunks, small luggage, and bright travelling paraphernalia were hauled out. Dolhanski during the dinner and these last moments displayed such sangfroid and such phlegm that all the lords of England might envy him. Without the least haste he conversed with the gentlemen; he expressed his regrets to Marynia that he could not be at the concert; to Pani Otocka he said that he owed to her in a great measure his happiness of that day; and afterwards intrusted Gorek to the neighborly care of Krzycki, and bantered with Gronski, trying to persuade him to follow in his footsteps.

This superb calmness of his contrasted strangely with the uneasiness and distraction of the bride. For a half hour before the departure and immediately after donning her travelling robe, she began to stare at her mother with an inquiring look as if awaiting from her something which was overlooked or forgotten and which under no circumstances ought to be overlooked. This continued so long that it attracted general attention, and when Pani Wlocek did not appear to understand the inquiring look, Kajetana beckoned her for a confidential talk in a room adjoining the dining-hall.

To the ears of the guests there began to reach for a quarter of an hour some alarming though muffled cries of, "Ah!" and "Oh!" and after an interval the bride entered with her eyes covered by her palms. But after a while she dropped her hands alongside her dress and gazing at Dolhanski with the look of an antelope at a lion, she asked in an almost inaudible voice:

"Edward, perhaps it is already time?"

Gronski, Krzycki, and Count Gil bit their lips, while Dolhanski glanced at his watch and said:

"We have yet five minutes."

X

The cloudlets looming between Hanka and Ladislaus began by degrees to be transformed into clouds. At times they ceased to mutually understand each other. Hanka was more and more disturbed by the thought whether Ladislaus, notwithstanding his good heart and his ability to appreciate everything which is exalted and noble, was not a weak character, that in a moment of sudden impulse or passionate ecstasy is unable to resist and cannot muster within himself sufficient strength, even though his own worth is involved, and at this thought she was oppressed by a deep sorrow. But she was yet more painfully nettled on another side of the matter. This was that she arrived at the conviction that his feelings towards her were better, purer and, as it were, more shy at the time when he thought that she was Miss Anney. She remembered various moments, both in Jastrzeb and in Warsaw, in which she was certain that this burning flame of love, which glowed in his heart, was at the same time a sacrificial flame of esteem. And now when she had told him that she is the former Hanka that pure fire has changed into an ignition of the senses. Why? Was the cause of this their former sin; was it that she was a peasant? In the answer to those questions lay the pain, for Hanka felt that whatever happened was the result of these causes.

But she was mistaken in thinking that Ladislaus did not understand that just for these two reasons he ought to act directly contrary, in order to efface in her the memory of sin and to raise her in her own eyes and to respect her as his future wife. He understood this quite clearly, and often it happened that after parting from her he upbraided himself, not mincing words, and in his soul made a solemn promise of reformation. But as in his easy life he had not accustomed himself to contend with anything and, above all, with himself, therefore this lasted but a short time-as long only as he was away from her, as long as he was not enveloped by the warmth emanating from her; only when he was not absorbed with her eyes; did not feel her hand in his own, and did not intoxicate himself with her feminine attractions. Then reason blinded in him and darkened; he became the slave of blood, full of sophisms, the agent of senses, and the recollection of the former Hanka, instead of repressing the temptation, only increased it the more.

Under such conditions, sooner or later, the storm had to break above the heads of both and create desolation. Accordingly it burst sooner than Krzycki could have foreseen.

One day, coming at the twilight hour to Hanka, he found her in a strange and unusual condition. She was agitated, her countenance was suffused with blushes, her eyes were red, and the hand which she tendered to him, palpably trembled. At the beginning she did not want to tell him what was the matter, but when they sat beside each other, he began to beg of her that she would not make anything a secret with him, but to tell him what occurred, not only as a fiancé, but as her best friend.

Hanka was always conciliated by an appeal to friendship. Therefore after a while she said, smiling sadly:

"I was not concerned about any secret but I preferred to keep to myself an unpleasantness. Did you, sir, ever notice my servant, Pauly?"

(Hanka from a certain time addressed her fiancé as "sir," believing that in this manner she would hold him more easily at a proper distance.)

"Pauly?" repeated Ladislaus, and though, after all, he thus far had done nothing with which to reproach himself, a sudden disquiet arose in him. "Pauly? Why of course! Why, she was at Jastrzeb and I saw her here everyday. What happened?"

"She created for me a horribly disagreeable scene and has left me."

"Why?"

"That is just what I do not know. She always was very violent and nervous, but very honest. So I was attached to her and I thought that she would be attached to me. But for some time I have observed in her something like a dislike to me, with each day greater. Really, I never was harsh to her; even the contrary. So I attributed everything to the nerves. In the meantime, to-day, it came to an outburst and it is so disagreeable to me! so disagreeable!"

Hanka's voice faltered, and it could be seen that she felt the whole occurrence deeply. So Ladislaus pressed her hand to his lips and asked with sympathy:

"What kind of outburst was it?"

"This afternoon, or rather after Marynia's return from the rehearsal, we were to ride up town with Zosia. So, desiring to change my dress, I ordered her to hand it to me. Pauly went after it as usual and brought it, but suddenly she threw it upon the ground and began to trample upon it, and in addition screamed in a loud, shrill voice that she would serve me no longer. At first I was stupefied, for it occurred to me that she had become insane."

"She surely is insane!" interrupted Ladislaus; "but what further?"

"She slammed the door and left. I did not see her any more. About an hour later somebody came for her things and wages."

Here Hanka began to shake her head.

"And nevertheless when I recall her dislike and what she told me in the last moments, I do not think that it was an attack of insanity; it was only an outburst of hatred, which she could no longer restrain in herself. And for me this is such a disappointment, such a disappointment!"

"My lady-Hanus," said Ladislaus, seizing both of her hands, "is it worth while to take to heart the deed of a foolish vixen? For she is a foolish vixen-nothing more. It is enough to look at her. Calm yourself, Hanus, – this is only a momentary matter which it is necessary to forget as soon as possible. Remember who you are and who she is! Such times have come that everything is turned topsy-turvy. Such occurrences now take place everywhere. But they will pass away. In the meantime we two have so many reasons for joy that in view of them such wretched smarts ought to disappear."

And he began to press alternately her hands to his lips and to his breast and gaze in her eyes, but this increased her grief; for Hanka desiring to spare unnecessary disagreeableness to her betrothed and herself did not confess everything to him. She was particularly reticent about this, that the infuriated servant, on leaving, screamed at her in her eyes, "You base peasant. You ought to serve me, not I you! Your place is with cows, not in the palace!" Perhaps Hanka might not have taken these words so much to heart were it not for the previous friction in her relations with Ladislaus, and were it not for the thought that he transgressed certain bounds perhaps because she was his former sweetheart and a peasant. But just this reason caused the thorn to be imbedded in her heart more deeply and bred in her a fear as to future life in which similar scenes might be repeated more frequently.

So, also, his words about the happiness awaiting them were only drops overflowing the cup of bitterness, and his caresses affected the aggrieved girl like a child, who the more she is consoled the more disconsolate she becomes. There came to her a moment of weakness and exhaustion. The usual strength deserted her, her nerves were unstrung, and she began to sob, but feeling at the same time ashamed of her tears she buried her face in his breast.

"Hanus, my Hanus!" repeated Ladislaus.

And he began to kiss her light hair. Afterwards clasping her temples with his palms, he raised her tear-stained face and kissed off her tears. She did not defend herself; so after a while he sought with his mouth her quivering lips.

"Hanus! Hanus!" he whispered in a panting voice.

The ferment of desire more and more obscured his reason, obscured his heart, his memory. He drank from the girl's lips while his breath held out, he forgot himself like a drunkard and finally seized her in his arms.

"Hanus! Hanus!"

And it happened that he offended her grievously, that to the humiliation, which she had met that day, he added a new humiliation; to insult, a new insult-that an abyss plainly separated them!

XI

When on the morning of the following day Ladislaus awoke after a brief feverish sleep, he was seized by grief and an insane rage at himself. He recalled everything which had taken place. He remembered that his parting with Hanka the day before was equivalent to being shown the door; there returned to him as a wicked echo his own wretched and dreadful words said in his passion at the time of separation, that if her resistance flowed from fear that later he might break their engagement, then let her know that it was an idle fear. And so he imputed this resistance to miserable motives. And he, a man who prided himself not only upon his good breeding but also upon a subtile sense of honor and personal worthiness-he, Krzycki, could act the way he did and say what he said. In the first moments after opening his eyes, it seemed to him that this was a point-blank impossibility; some kind of a continuation of the nightmare which throttled his slumber, which ought to disappear with the light of day.

But that nightmare was a heavy reality. It was incumbent upon him to take it into account and remedy it in some manner. He sat down to write a letter, in which he smote himself upon the breast, complained, and apologized. He said that no one was able to condemn him as he had condemned himself, and if he dared to beg for forgiveness it was only in hope that perhaps some voice, some echo of the better moments would intercede for him in her heart and would procure for him forgiveness. At the close he begged for an opportunity of repeating in person the words of the letter and for an answer, even in case the sentence pronounced against him was final.

But when the messenger who took the letter informed him upon his return that there was no answer, he fell into genuine despair. As a really spoiled child of life, unaccustomed to opposition and obstacles, and one convinced that everything was due him, it began to appear to him that this was more than he deserved; that he was the injured party. He would not admit, however, that all was lost. He indulged in the hope that Hanka might, before opening the letter, have announced that there was no answer and that after reading it she would be moved, would relent, and rescind her resolution. Sustained by this hope, he dressed himself, strolled over the city for an hour in order to give Hanka time to reckon with her heart, and afterwards rang the bell of her residence.

But he was not received. Then it occurred to him to apply to Pani Otocka. After a while, he nevertheless perceived that the causes of his rupture with Hanka were of such a nature that it was impossible to discuss them either with Pani Otocka or his mother. In his soul he now began to accuse Hanka of downright cruelty, but at the same time the greater the difficulties interposed between them the greater was his grief. He could not, in any measure, be reconciled to the thought that whatever he regarded as his own should be taken away from him; and as is usual with weak persons, he began to commiserate himself.