Children of the Soil. Henryk Sienkiewicz
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The furnishing itself caused him pleasure, for it gave a certain show of reality to his wishes.
Plavitski, looking around at the drawing-room, beyond which was another smaller apartment furnished very elegantly, inquired,—
“Why not marry?”
“I will when I can.”
Plavitski smiled cunningly, and, patting Pan Stanislav on the knee, began to repeat,—
“I know whom; I know whom.”
“Wit is needed in this case!” cried Pan Stanislav; “try to keep a secret from such a diplomat.”
“Ah ha! whom? The widow, the widow—whom?”
“Dear uncle!”
“Well? May God bless thee, as I bless thee! But now I am going, for it is time to dine, and in the evening there will be a concert in Dolina.”
“In company with Mashko?”
“No, with Marynia; but Mashko too will be there.”
“I will go also, with Bigiel.”
“Then we shall see each other. A mountain cannot meet a mountain, but a man may meet a man any time.”
“As Talleyrand said.”
“Till our next meeting, then!”
Pan Stanislav liked music at times; he had had no thought, though, of going to this concert; but when Plavitski mentioned it, a desire of seeing Mashko seized him. After Plavitski had gone, he thought some time yet whether to go or not; but it might be said that he did this for form’s sake, since he knew in advance that he would not hold out and would go. Bigiel, who came to him for a business consultation in the afternoon, let himself be persuaded easily, and about four o’clock they were in Dolina.
The day, though in September, was so warm and pleasant that people had assembled numerously; the whole audience had a summer look. On all sides were bright-colored dresses, parasols, and youthful women, who had swarmed forth like many-colored butterflies, warmed by the sun. In this swarm, predestined for love, or already the object of that feeling and entertaining it, and assembled there for the pursuit of love and for music, Marynia also was to appear. Pan Stanislav remembered his student years, when he was enamoured of unknown maidens whom he sought in throngs of people, and made mistakes every moment, through similarity of hat, hair, and general appearance. And it happened now to him, to mistake at a distance a number of persons for Marynia,—persons more or less like her; and now, as before, whenever he said to himself, “This is she!” he felt those quivers at the heart, that disquiet which he had felt formerly. To-day, however, anger came on him, for this seemed to him ridiculous; and, besides, he felt that such eagerness for meetings and interviews, by occupying a man, and fixing his attention on one woman, increases the interest which she excites, and binds him all the more to her.
Meanwhile the orchestra began to play before he could find her for whom he was looking. It was necessary to sit down and listen, which he did unwillingly, secretly impatient with Bigiel, who listened with closed eyes. After the piece was ended, he saw at last Plavitski’s shining cylinder, and his black mustaches; beyond him the profile of Marynia. Mashko sat third, calm, full of distinction, with the mien of an English lord. At times he talked to Marynia, and she turned to him, nodding slightly.
“The Plavitskis are there,” said Pan Stanislav. “We must greet them.”
“Where dost thou see them?”
“Over there, with Mashko.”
“True. Let us go.”
And they went.
Marynia, who liked Pani Bigiel, greeted Bigiel very cordially. She bowed to Pan Stanislav not with such coolness as to arrest attention; but she talked with Bigiel, inquiring for the health of his wife and children. In answer, he invited her and her father very earnestly to visit them on the following week, at his place in the country.
“My wife will be happy, very happy!” repeated he. “Pani Emilia too will come.”
Marynia tried to refuse; but Plavitski, who sought entertainment, and who knew from his former stay in Warsaw that Bigiel lived well, accepted. It was settled that they would dine, and return in the evening. The trip was an easy one, for Bigiel’s villa was only one station distant from Warsaw.
“Meanwhile sit near us,” said Plavitski; “right here a number of seats are unoccupied.”
Pan Stanislav had turned already to Marynia,—
“Have you news from Pani Emilia?”
“I wished to ask if you had,” answered she.
“I have not; but to-morrow I shall inquire about Litka by telegram.”
Here the conversation stopped. Bigiel took the seat next to Plavitski, Pan Stanislav on the outside. Marynia turned to Mashko again, so that Pan Stanislav could see only her profile, and that not completely. It seemed to him that she had grown somewhat thin, or at least her complexion had become paler and more delicate during her stay of a few weeks in Warsaw; hence her long eyelashes were more sharply defined and seemed to cast more shade. Her whole form had become more exquisite, as it were. The effect was heightened by a careful toilet and equally careful arrangement of hair, the style of which was different from what it had been. Formerly she wore her hair bound lower down, now it was dressed more in fashion; that is, high under her hat. Pan Stanislav noted her elegant form at a glance, and admired with his whole soul the charm of it, which was evident in everything, even in the way in which she held her hands on her knees. She seemed very beautiful to him. He felt again with great force that if every man bears within him his own type of female charm, which is the measure of the impression that a given woman makes on him, Marynia is for him so near his type that she and it are almost identical, and, looking at her, he said to himself,—
“Oh to have such a wife, to have such a wife!”
But she turned to Mashko. Perhaps she turned even too often; and if Pan Stanislav had preserved all his coolness of blood, he might have thought that she did so to annoy him, and that was the case, perhaps. Their conversation must have been animated, however, for, from time to time, a bright blush flashed over her face.
“But she is simply playing the coquette with him,” thought Pan Stanislav, gritting his teeth. And he wanted absolutely to hear what they were saying; that was difficult, however. The audience, during the long intervals, was noisy enough. Separated by two persons from Marynia, Pan Stanislav could not hear what she said; but after a new piece of music had been finished, he heard single words and opinions from Mashko, who had the habit of speaking with emphasis, so as to give greater weight to each word.
“I like him,” said Mashko. “Every man has a weakness; his weakness is money—I am grateful to him, for he persuaded me—to Kremen—I think, besides, that he is a sincere well-wisher of yours, for he has not spared—I confess, too, that he roused my curiosity.”
Marynia answered something with great vivacity; then Pan Stanislav heard again the end of Mashko’s answer,—
“A character not formed yet, and intelligence perhaps less than energy, but a nature rather good.”
Pan Stanislav understood perfectly that they were talking of him, and recognized Mashko’s tactics equally well. To judge, as it were, with reason and impartially, rather, to praise, or at least to recognize various qualities, and at the same time to strip them of every charm, was a method well known to the young advocate. Through this he raised himself to the exceptional, and, as it were, higher position of a judge. Pan Stanislav knew, too, that Mashko spoke not so much with intent to lower him, as to exalt himself, and that likely he would have said the same thing of every other young man in whom he might suspect a possible rival.
They were finally the tactics which Pan Stanislav himself might have used in a similar case; this did not hinder him, however, from considering them in Mashko as the acme of perversity,