Children of the Soil

And still reality said more definitely than all books that it was so. Suddenly Pan Ignas remembered what Osnovski had said to him about their fear lest that fool might have plans against Castelka, that the mention of this had angered Pani Aneta immensely, and that she filled Lineta’s head with feeling for another. So then, for Pani Aneta the question consisted in this, that Kopovski should not pay court to Lineta. She wanted to save him for herself. Here Pan Ignas shivered all at once, for the thought struck him, that if that were true, Kopovski must have had some chance of success; and again a shadow pursued the bright form of Lineta. If that were true, she would fall in his eyes to the level of Pani Aneta. After a time he felt bitterness in his mouth and fire in his brain. Anger sprang upon him, like a tempest; he could not forgive her this, and the very suspicion would have poisoned him. Halting again on the street, he felt that he must throttle that thought in himself, or go mad from it.

In fact, he put it down so effectively that he recognized himself as the lowest fool for this alone, – that the thought could come to him. That Lineta was incapable of loving Kopovski was shown best by this, – that she had fallen in love with him, Pan Ignas; and the fears and suspicions of Pani Aneta flowed only from the self-love of a vain woman, who was afraid that another might be recognized as more attractive and beautiful than she was. Pan Ignas had the feeling of having pushed from his breast a stone, which had oppressed him. He began then in spirit to implore on his knees pardon of the unspotted one; and thenceforth his thoughts touching her were full of love, homage, and contrition.

Now he made the remark to himself that evil, though committed by another, bears evil; how many foul thoughts had passed through his mind only because he had seen a fool at the feet of a giddy head! He noted that consideration down in his memory.

When near his lodgings he met Pan Stanislav with Pani Mashko on his arm; and that day had so poisoned him that a sudden suspicion flashed through his mind. But Pan Stanislav recognized him in the light of the moon and a lamp, and had no desire to hide evidently, for he stopped him.

“Good-evening,” said he. “Why home so early to-day?”

“I was at Pani Bronich’s, and I am just strolling about, for the evening is beautiful.”

“Then step in to us. As soon as I conduct this lady home, I will return. My wife has not seen you this long time.”

“I will go,” said Pan Ignas.

And a desire to see Pani Marynia had seized him really. So many thoughts and feelings had rushed through him that he was weary; and he knew that the calm and kind face of Marynia would act on him soothingly.

Soon he rang the bell at Pan Stanislav’s. When he had entered, he explained, after the greeting, that he came at the request of her husband, to which she answered, —

“Of course! I am very glad. My husband at this moment is escorting home Pani Mashko, who visited me, but he will return to tea. The Bigiels will be here surely, and perhaps my father will come, if he has not gone to the theatre.”

Then she indicated a place at the table to him, and, straightening the lamp shade, began on the work with which she was occupied previously, – making little rosettes of narrow red and blue ribbons, of which there was a pile lying before her.

“What are you making?” asked Pan Ignas.

“Rosettes. They are sewed to various costumes.”

After a while she added, —

“But this is far more interesting, – what are you doing? Do you know that all Warsaw is marrying you to Lineta Castelli? They have seen you both in the theatre, at the races; they see you at the promenades; and it is impossible to persuade them that the affair is not decided already.”

“Since I have spoken with you so openly, I will tell you now that it is almost decided.”

Marynia raised to him eyes enlivened with a smile and with curiosity.

“Is that true? Ah, that is a perfect piece of news! May God give you such happiness as we wish you!”

Then she stretched her hand to him, and afterward inquired with roused curiosity, —

“Have you spoken with Lineta?”

Pan Ignas told her how it was, and acknowledged his conversation with Lineta and with Osnovski; then, letting himself be borne away in the narrative, he confessed everything that had happened to him – how, from the beginning, he had observed, criticised, and struggled with himself; how he had not dared to hope; how he had tried to drive that feeling from his head, or rather, from his heart, and how he could not resist it. He assured her that he had promised himself a number of times to cut short the acquaintance and the visits, but strength failed him each time; each time he saw with amazement that the whole world, the whole object of his life, was there; that without her, without Lineta, he would not know what to do with his life – and he went back to her.

Pan Ignas had not observed himself less truthfully, but he criticised and struggled less than he said. He spoke sincerely, however. He added at the end that he knew with certainty that he loved, not his own feelings involved in Lineta, but Lineta herself, for herself, and that she was the dearest person on earth to him.

“Think,” said he, “others have families, mothers, sisters, brothers; I, except my unfortunate father, have no one, and therefore my love for the whole world is centred in her.”

“True,” said Marynia; “that had to come.”

“This seems a dream to me,” continued he; “it cannot find place in my head that she will be my wife really. At times it seems to me that this cannot happen; that something will intervene; that all will be lost.”

In fact, this feeling was strengthened in him by exaltation, to which he was more inclined than other men, and at last he began to tremble nervously; then he covered his eyes with his hands, and said, —

“You see I must shield my eyes to imagine this properly. Such happiness! such fabulous happiness! What does a man seek in life, and in marriage? Just that, and in its own course that exceeds his strength. I do not know whether I am so weak or what? but I say sincerely that at times breath fails me.”

Marynia placed her rosette on the table, and, putting her hands on it, looked at him for a while, then said, —

“You are a poet, and are carried away too much; you should look more calmly. Listen to what I will tell you. I have a little book from my mother, in which, while she was sick and without hope of recovery, she wrote for me what she thought was good. About marriage she wrote down something which later I have not heard from any one, and have not read in any book, – that is, that one should not marry to be happy, but to accomplish those duties which God imposes at marriage; and that happiness is only an addition, a gift of God. You see how simple this is; and still it is true that not only have I not heard it since, but I have not seen any woman or any man about to marry who thought more of duty than of happiness. Remember this, and repeat it to Lineta, – will you?”

Pan Ignas looked at her with astonishment.

“Do you know this is so simple that really it will never come to any one’s mind?”

She laughed a little sadly, and, taking her rosette, began again to sew. After a while she repeated, —

“Tell that to Lineta.”

And she sewed on, drawing out with quick movement her somewhat thin hand, together with the needle.

“You will understand that if one has such a principle in the heart, one has perpetual peace, more joyous, or sadder, as God grants, but still deep. But without that there is only a kind of feverish happiness, and deceptions always at hand, even if only for this reason, – that happiness may be different from what we imagine it.” And she sewed on.

He looked at her inclined head, at her moving hand, at her work; he heard her voice; and it seemed to him that that peace of which she had spoken was floating above her, was filling the whole atmosphere, was suspended above the table, was burning mildly in the lamp, and finally, was entering him.

He was so occupied with himself, with his love, that it did not even occur to him that her heart could be sad. Meanwhile he was penetrated, as it were, by a double astonishment: first, that these truths which she had told him were such an a, b, c, that they ought to lie on the very surface of every thought; and second, that in spite of this, his own thought had not worked them out of itself, or, at least, had not looked at them. “What is that,” thought he, “our wisdom, bookish in comparison with that simple wisdom of an honest woman’s heart?” Then, recalling Pani Aneta, and looking at Marynia, he began this monologue in his soul, “That woman and this woman!” And suddenly there came to him immense solace; all his disturbed thoughts settled down to their level. He felt that he was resting while looking at that noble woman. “In Lineta,” said he to himself, “there is the same calmness, the same simplicity, and the same honesty.”

Now Pan Stanislav came, a little later the Bigiels, after which the violoncello was brought. At tea Pan Stanislav spoke of Mashko. Mashko conducted the suit against the will with all energy, and it advanced, though there were difficulties at every step. The advocate on the side of the benevolent institutions – that young Sledz (herring), whom Mashko promised to sprinkle with pepper, cover with oil, and swallow – turned out not to be so easily eaten as had seemed. Pan Stanislav heard that he was a man cool, resolute, and at the same time a skilled lawyer.

“What is amusing, withal,” said he, “is, that Mashko, as Mashko, considers himself a kind of patrician, who is fighting with a plebeian, and says this will be a test of whose blood is thicker. It is a pity that Bukatski is not living; this would give him amusement.”

“But is Mashko in St. Petersburg all this time?” asked Bigiel.

“He returns to-day; for that reason she could not stay for the evening,” answered Pan Stanislav; after a while he added, “I had in my time a prejudice against her; but I have convinced myself that she is not a bad woman, and, besides, is poor.”

“How poor? Mashko hasn’t lost the case yet,” said Pani Bigiel.

“But he is always from home. Pani Mashko’s mother is in an optical hospital in Vienna, and will lose her eyes, perhaps. Pani Mashko is alone whole days, like a hermitess. I say that I had a prejudice against her, but now I am sorry for her.”

“It is true,” said Marynia, “that since marriage she has become far more sympathetic.”

“Yes,” answered Pan Stanislav; “and besides she has lost no charm. Red eyes injured her formerly; but now the redness has vanished, and she is as maiden-like as ever.”

“But it is unknown whether Mashko is equally pleased with that,” remarked Bigiel.

Marynia was anxious to tell those present the news about Pan Ignas; but since he was not betrothed yet officially, she did not know that it might be mentioned. When, however, after tea, Pani Bigiel began to inquire of him how the matter stood, he himself said that it was as good as finished, and Marynia put in her word announcing that the matter stood in this form, – that they might congratulate Pan Ignas. All began then to press his hand with that true friendship which they had for him, and genuine gladness possessed all. Bigiel, from delight, kissed Pani Bigiel; Pan Stanislav commanded to bring glasses and a bottle of champagne, to drink the health of the “most splendid couple” in Warsaw; Pani Bigiel began to joke with Pan Ignas, predicting what the housekeeping of a poet and an artist would be. He laughed; but was really moved by this, that his dreams were beginning to be real.

A little later, Pan Stanislav punched him, and said, —

“The happiness of God, but I will give you one advice: what you have in poetry, put into business, into work; be a realist in life, and remember that marriage is no romance.”