Children of the Soil

“I will not ask him about anything to-morrow either,” thought Marynia, resting her head on his shoulder. And after a while she thought again, “I will never tell him anything.” And fatigue, both physical and mental, began to overpower her, so that before they reached home her eyes were closed, and she had fallen asleep on his arm.

Pani Bronich was sitting, meanwhile, in the drawing-room, looking toward the glass door of the balcony, to which the betrothed had gone out for a moment to breathe the air freshened by rain, and say good-night to each other without witnesses. After the storm the night had become very clear, giving out the odor of wet leaves; it was full of stars, which were as if they had bathed in the rain, and were smiling through tears. The two young people stood some time in silence, and then began to say that they loved each other with all their souls; and at last Pan Ignas stretched forth his hand, on which a ring was glittering, and said, —

“My greatly beloved! I look at this ring, and cannot look at it sufficiently. To this moment it has seemed to me that all this is a dream, and only now do I dare to think that thou wilt be mine really.”

Then Lineta placed the palm of her hand on his, so that the two rings were side by side; and she said, with a voice of dreamy exaltation, —

“Yes; the former Lineta is no longer in existence, only thy betrothed. Now we must belong with our whole lives to each other; and it is a marvel to me that there should be such power in these little rings, as if something holy were in them.”

Pan Ignas’s heart was overflowing with happiness, calm, and sweetness.

“Yes,” said he; “for in the ring is the soul, which yields itself, and in return receives another. In such a golden promise is ingrafted everything which in a man says, ‘I wish, I love, and promise.’”

Lineta repeated like a faint echo, “I wish, I love, and promise.”

Next he embraced her and held her long at his breast, and then began to take farewell. But, borne away by the might of love and the impulse of his soul, he made of that farewell a sort of religious act of adoration and honor. So he gave good-night to those blessed hands which had given him so much happiness, and good-night to that heart which loved him, and good-night to the lips which had confessed love, and good-night to the clear eyes through which mutuality gazed forth at the poet; and at last the soul went out of him, and changed itself, as it were, into a shining circle, around that head which was dearest in the world and worshipped.

“Good-night!”

After a while Pani Bronich and Lineta were alone in the drawing-room.

“Art wearied, child?” inquired Pani Bronich, looking at Lineta’s face, which was as if roused from sleep.

And Lineta answered, —

“Ah, aunt, I am returning from the stars, and that’s such a long journey.”

CHAPTER L

Pan Ignas could say to himself that sometimes a lucky star shines even for poets. It is true that since the day of his betrothal to Lineta it had occurred to him frequently that there would be need now to think of means to furnish a house, and meet the expenses, as well of a marriage as a wedding; but, being first of all in love, and not having in general a clear understanding of such matters, he represented all this to himself only as some kind of new difficulty to be overcome. He had conquered so many of these in his life that, trusting in his power, he thought that he would conquer this too; but he had not thought over the means so far.

Others, however, were thinking for him. Old Zavilovski, in whom, with all his esteem for geniuses, nothing could shake the belief that every poet must have “fiu, fiu” in his head, invited Pan Stanislav to a personal consultation, and said, —

“I will say openly that this youngster has pleased me, though his father was, with permission, a great roisterer; nothing for him but cards and women and horses. He came to grief in his time. But the son is not like the father; he has brought to the name not discredit, but honor. Well, others have not accustomed me much to this; but the Lord God grant that I shall not forget the man. I should like, however, to do something for him at once; for though a distant relative, he is a relative, and the name is the same, – that is the main thing.”

“We have been thinking of this,” said Pan Stanislav, “but the thing is difficult. If aid be spoken of, he is so sensitive that one may make the impatient fellow angry.”

“Indeed! How stubborn he is!” said Zavilovski, with evident pleasure.

“True! He has kept books and written letters for our house a short time. But we have conceived a real liking for him; therefore my partner and I have offered him credit ourselves. ‘Take a few thousand rubles,’ said we, ‘for expenses and furnishing a house, and return them to us in the course of three years from thy salary.’ He would not: he said that he had trust in his betrothed; she would accommodate herself to him, he felt sure, and he did not want the money. Osnovski, too, wanted to offer aid but we stopped him, knowing that it was useless. Your project will be difficult.”

“Maybe, then, he has something?”

“He has, and he hasn’t. We have just learned that some thousands of rubles came to him from his mother; but with the interest he supports his father in an insane asylum, and considers the capital as inviolable. That he takes nothing from it, is certain, for before he began with us, he suffered such poverty that he was simply dying of hunger, and he didn’t touch a copper. Such is his character. And you will understand why we esteem him. He is writing something, it seems, and thinks that he will meet the expense of first housekeeping with it. Maybe he will; his name means much at present.”

“Pears on willows!” said Pan Zavilovski. “You tell me that his name means much – does it? But that’s pears on willows!”

“Not necessarily; only it will not come quickly.”

“Well, he was ceremonious with you because you were strangers, but I am a relative.”

“We are strangers, but older acquaintances than you, and we know him better.”

Zavilovski, unaccustomed to contradiction, began to move his white mustaches, and pant from displeasure. For the first time in his life he had to trouble himself about the question, would the man to whom he wished to give money be pleased to accept it? This astonished, pleased, and angered him all at once; he recalled, then, something which he did not mention to Pan Stanislav, and this was it, – how many times had he paid notes for the father of the young man? – and what notes! But see, the apple has fallen so far from the tree that now there is a new and unexpected trouble.

“Well,” said he, after a while, “may the merciful God grant the young generation to change; for now, O devil, do not go even near them!”

Here his face grew bright all at once with an immense honest pleasure. The inexhaustible optimism, lying at the bottom of his soul, when it found a real cause to justify itself, filled his heart with glad visions.

“Bite him now, lord devil,” said he, “for the beast is as if of stone! – a capable rascal! resolute in work, and character; that is what it is, – character.”

Here he stared, and, shaking his head, fixed his lips as a sign of wonder, as if to whistle, and after a moment, added, —

“Indeed! and that in a noble! As God lives, I didn’t expect it.”

But talking in this way he deceived himself, for all his life he had expected everything.

“It seems, then,” said Pan Stanislav, “that there is no help but this, Panna Castelli must accommodate herself to him.”

But the old noble made a wry face all at once. “That is talk! tfu! Will she accommodate, or will she not? the deuce knows her! She is young; and as she is young, maybe she is ready for everything; but who will give assurance, and for how long? Besides, there is her aunt and that accommodating dead man; when he shouts from under the ground, go and talk with him. As God is true, I esteem people who have acquired property; but when any one has crept out of a cottage, and not a mansion, and pretends that he lived always in palaces, he wants palaces. And so it was with old Bronich. Neither of them was lacking in vanity; the young woman was reared in such a school, – nothing but comfort and abundance. Ignas does not know them in that respect – and you do not. Such a woman as this” (here he pointed to his daughter) “would go to a garret even, once she had given her word; but that other one, she may not go easily.”

“I do not know them,” said Pan Stanislav, “though I have heard various reports; but through good-will for Ignas, I should like to know definitely what to think of them.”

“What to think of them! I have known them a long time, and I, too, do not know much. Well, judging from what Bronich herself says, the women are saints, the most worthy. And pious! Ha! they should be canonized while living! But you see it is this way, – there are women among us who bear God and the commands of faith in their hearts, and there are such, too, who make of our Catholic religion, Catholic amusement; and such talk the loudest, and grow up where no one sowed them. That’s what the case is.”

“Ah, how truly you have spoken!” said Pan Stanislav.

“Well, is it not true?” inquired Zavilovski. “I have seen various things in life; but let us return to the question. Have you any method to make this wild cat accept aid, or not?”

“It is necessary to think of something; but at this moment nothing occurs to me.”

Thereupon Panna Helena Zavilovski, who, occupied with embroidery on canvas, was silent up to that moment as if not hearing the conversation, raised her steel cold eyes suddenly, and said, —

“There is a very simple method.”

The old noble looked at her.

“See, she has found it! What is this simple method?”

“Let papa deposit sufficient capital for Pan Ignas’s father.”

“It would be better for thee not to give that advice; I have done enough in my life for Pan Ignas’s father, though I had no wish to see him, and prefer now to do something for Pan Ignas himself.”

“I know; but if his father has an income assured till his death, Pan Ignas will be able to command that which he has from his mother.”

“As God is dear to me, that is true!” said Pan Zavilovski, with astonishment. “See! we have both been breaking our heads for nothing, and she has discovered it. True, as God is dear to me!”

“You are perfectly right,” said Pan Stanislav, looking at her with curiosity.