Kitabı oku: «Whirlpools», sayfa 12

II

Out in the world the first glow of dawn was just visible when Ladislaus awoke, after a fitful and slightly feverish sleep. He did not feel badly; only a thirst was consuming him; he began to seek with his eyes for some one near who could give him water, and espied Miss Anney sitting at the window. She must have watched a long time for she dozed, with her hands resting inertly upon her knees, and her head was bowed so low that Ladislaus at first caught only a glimpse of her light hair, illuminated by the light of the green lamp. She immediately started up however, as if she had a premonition that the patient was awake, and it seemed to him that she divined his thoughts, for, approaching noiselessly, she asked:

"Do you wish any water?"

Krzycki did not answer; he only smiled and winked his eyes in sign of assent; when she handed the drink to him, he eagerly drained the glass, and afterwards gently taking her hand in his own, which was uninjured, he pressed it to his lips and held it there a long time.

"My dearest … my guardian angel," he whispered.

And again he pressed her hand to his lips.

Miss Anney did not even withdraw her hand; only with the other one she took the glass and placed it upon the small cupboard standing near the bed. She bent over him and said:

"It is necessary for you to keep quiet. – I will be with you until you get well, but now it is essential that you think only of your health; only of your health."

Her voice sounded in tones of quiet and gentle persuasiveness. Ladislaus dropped her hand. For some time he moved his lips, but not a word could be heard. Evidently, he was weakened from emotion, as he grew pale and beads of perspiration stood upon his forehead.

Miss Anney began to wipe his face with a handkerchief and continued:

"Please be calm. If I thought that I was harming you, I would not come here, and I do want to be with you now. Not a word about anything until the wounds are healed; not a word. Promise me that."

A moment of silence ensued.

"Let the lady retire for a rest," Krzycki said in a pleading voice.

"I will go, I will go, but I am not at all tired. During the first half of the night, Pan Gronski sat up at your side and I slept. Really, I am not tired and I will sleep during the day. But you, sir, try to sleep. All that is necessary is for you not to look at me, and close your eyes. Then sleep will come of itself. Good-night, or rather good-day, for the day is breaking in the world."

In fact the morning's dawn reddened and gilded the sky, and the sun was about to rise at any moment. The light of the green lamp grew paler each moment and was merging into the brightness of the day. Ladislaus, desiring to show how he obeyed every word of his beloved guardian, closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, but after a while footsteps were heard in the hallway and the doctor entered accompanied by Miss Anney's maid, whose turn it now was to attend to the patient. The doctor was so terribly drowsy that instead of eyes he had two slits surrounded by swollen eyelids, but he was as jovial and noisy as usual. He examined the bandages, admitted that the dressing was in proper shape, felt the pulse, and found everything in good order. Afterwards he opened the windows to freshen the air which was saturated with iodoform.

"A splendid morning," said he. "Health flows from the skies. Let the windows remain open all day. As soon as they hitch the horses, I shall return to the city for I have patients who cannot wait. But I will come back in the evening and bring a nurse for our wounded friend."

After which, addressing Miss Anney, he said:

"Only do not let it get into your head to drive for me, alone. The injured man is getting along nicely-a slight fever, very slight. I will see Pani Krzycki before I leave. Do not let her leave her bed all day, and let her nieces watch her. To you, sir, I recommend the bed. It is permissible to inhale but not to breathe one's last breath. Ha! I will return about five in the evening, unless indeed, I am forced on the road to swallow a few pills from the socialist pharmacy. That is a stylish medicine and, it must be confessed, acts quickly."

"How is Mother?" asked Ladislaus in alarm.

At this the doctor again turned to Miss Anney.

"Order him to lie quiet for he will not mind me. Your mother has more than fifteen years. Yesterday she started up suddenly, forgetting her rheumatism and weak heart action, laid you in bed, waited for my arrival; was present at the dressing, and after learning that there was no danger-at once! bah! – it was necessary to put her to bed. That is always the way with our women. But nothing is the matter with your mother; the usual reaction after a nervous strain. When she came to herself, I ordered her to remain in bed and not to appear here under the penalty of death-for you. With that, I restrained her. Otherwise she would have stuck here all night. Now your filigree cousins are watching her. They also almost turned topsyturvy; then I would have had four patients in one house. That would be a harvest-ha? Luckily there was to be found in this house one soul with different nerves, who did not swoon poetically. Ha!"

"How he is chattering," thought Ladislaus.

But the doctor began to gaze with great respect at Miss Anney and continued:

"Rule Britannia! It is a pleasure to look at you, as I love God! What health, what nerves! She sat up all night until the morning, – and nothing! As if she freshly shook the dew off herself! I repeat once more, it is a pleasure to behold you. I am going to the dining-room to see if they will not give me some coffee before I leave, for I am hungry."

But before he left he said to Miss Anney and her maid:

"Let the lady go with me and drink something warm before going to sleep, and you, little miss, sit here beside Pan Krzycki. It will be necessary to take his temperature and write it down. In case anything happens let Pan Gronski know. I will tell him to look in here occasionally. Good-by!"

Allowing Miss Anney, who smiled at the wounded man and repeated "Good-by," to pass before him, he followed her. In the dining-room, they found not only coffee, but the two sisters with Gronski and Dolhanski. The former had sat up all night with Pani Krzycki, whose illness was much more serious than the doctor told the son. At one time it was even so serious that it was doubtful whether she would revive from a long faint. Both "filigree" sisters were almost worn out, and Marynia had eyelids of actual lily color. Gronski, by all means, wanted the doctor to examine her and prescribe something strengthening.

But he, feeling her pulse for a while, said:

"I will prescribe for you, miss, as a medicine, a certain maxim of Confucius, which says, 'If thou wouldst know the truth, it is better to sit than stand, better to lie down than sit, and rather than lie down, it is better to sleep.'"

"That is all very well," she answered, "but after all that has taken place, I do not know whether I can sleep."

"Then let some one sing to you the lullaby, 'Ah, ah! Two little kittens'; but only not your sister, as for her I prescribe the same-until it is effective."

The rattle of the britzka interrupted further conversation. The doctor swallowed the hot coffee and took his leave. Dolhanski followed him and mounted a horse, held by a stable-boy. He announced that he would accompany the doctor through the forest.

"If that is for my safety, then it is absolutely unnecessary," said the doctor.

"I ride on horseback daily," replied Dolhanski, "and besides I want to see whether some May party has not again come to the Jastrzeb forest."

"No," answered the doctor, laughing. "I do not think that they will reappear so soon. They have in these matters a certain method. They prefer to be the hunters rather than the quarry, and understand that now it might come to a man hunt. In about a week or two, when they find out that their attempt was unsuccessful, it will be necessary to be more guarded."

"When will Krzycki be able to leave?"

"It all depends upon the purity of his blood; and I presume that it is pure. After all, it will not be necessary to wait in Jastrzeb for a complete cure. He had a pretty close call; that cannot be gainsaid. For if I had not come the same day, infection might have set in. But the antiseptic did its work. Ah, that Englishwoman who looks through a heavenly mist. There is a woman for me. What? Would you believe that at first I was upset with indignation at you gentlemen for permitting her to drive under those circumstances? Only later did she tell me the actual facts. If I do not fall in love with her, I am a marinated herring without milt."

"I would not advise it," said Dolhanski, "as it seems that in that territory there already has appeared a William the Conqueror."

"Do you think so? It may be possible! That also has occurred to my mind."

"Was it because the English prudery has disappeared in a corner?"

"No. Nursing a wounded man is a woman's duty and, in view of that, prudery must retire to a corner. Even yesterday's expedition demonstrated only courage and energy. But through that heavenly mist there reach our wounded friend such warm rays that-oh! But that does not prevent me from being in love. If old Dzwonkowski fell in love with your little cousin why should not I indulge in the same pleasure."

"In the same way you might fall in love with Saint Cecilia," said Dolhanski. "My cousin is not a woman on two feet, but a symbol."

And he stopped abruptly for he heard some voices coming from the depth of the forest and he sped his horse towards them.

"Nevertheless this clubman does not carry his soul on his shoulder," thought the doctor.

But it was only a false alarm, as it was merely village boys tending cattle. The doctor, who alighted from the britzka to rush to Dolhanski's assistance in case of need, soon saw them among the forest thickets. After a while Dolhanski reappeared and pressing on his eye the monocle which some twigs had displaced, said:

"That is only an innocent rural picture; cowherds and cows trespassing in other people's forests; nothing more."

After which he bade the doctor adieu and returned to the house.

Miss Anney had not yet retired to sleep, for he found her conversing with Gronski and engaged in winding iodoform gauze. At the sight of him, she raised her eyes from her work and asked:

"Anything new in the forest?"

"Yes, indeed; something has happened to the doctor. He has been shot."

At this, both suddenly rose, startled:

"What? Where? In the forest?"

"No! In Jastrzeb," answered Dolhanski.

III

Ladislaus complied in every particular with Miss Anney's injunctions for, immediately after she left, he dozed again and did not waken until the rays of the sun, which had ascended high in the heaven, fell on his head. He then knit his brows and, having partly shaken off his drowsiness, requested that the roller-blinds be lowered. The black-haired maid approached the window, wishing to lower them, but as she did this too eagerly and did not retain her hold on the string, the roller-blind dropped so suddenly that it loosened completely from the fastenings and tumbled down on the window sill. Then the maid, ashamed of her awkwardness, leaped upon the chair and from the chair to the sill and began to place anew the rollers in the rings. Krzycki looked at her bent form; at her upraised arms and at her black coiled hair, with a not yet conscious gaze, blinking his eyes as if he could not recall for the time being who that was; and not until she jumped from the frame, displaying at the same time graceful and plump limbs in black stockings, did he know who was before him; and he said:

"Ah! It is Panna Pauly."

"It is I," answered the girl. "I beg your pardon for making so much noise."

She blushed like a rose under his glance, and he recollected how he once saw her attired only in azure watery pearls; so he gazed at her with greater curiosity and said:

"That does not matter. I thank you, little Miss, for your solicitude."

At the same time, as a sign of gratitude, he moved the hand lying on the bed-quilt but feeling simultaneously a piercing pain, he made a wry face and hissed.

And she sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over him, and asked with intense anxiety:

"Does it pain?"

"It does."

"Can I hand you anything? Shall I call any one?"

"No, no."

For a certain time, silence followed. Ladislaus frowned and clinched his teeth; after which, drawing a deep breath, he said, as if with a certain rage:

"This was done for me by those scoundrels."

"Oh, if they only fell into my hands," she replied through her set teeth.

Such a fathomless hatred glistened in her eyes and her entire countenance assumed such an expression of cruelty, that it might serve as a model for a Gorgon face. Ladislaus was so astonished at this sight that he forgot about his pain.

Again silence ensued. The maid recollected herself after a while, but her cheeks grew so pale that the dark down above her lips became more marked:

She then asked: "What can I do to relieve you?"

Her voice now rang with such cordial solicitude that Ladislaus smiled and answered:

"Nothing, unless it be to commiserate with me."

And in a moment she was transported with spasmodic grief; she flung her face at his feet, and, embracing them with her arms, began to kiss them through the quilt. Her raven-like head and bent body shook from sobbing.

"Why little lady! Panna Pauly!" cried Ladislaus.

And he was compelled to repeat this several times before she heard him. Finally she rose and, covering her eyes with her hands, went to the window, pressed her face against the pane, and for some time remained motionless. Afterwards she began to wipe her eyes and readjust her hair, as if in fear that somebody, entering unexpectedly, might surmise what had taken place.

In the meantime, all the moments in which he had come in contact with her coursed through Ladislaus' mind, commencing with meeting her on the dark path, when she told him that a were-wolf did not look like that, and the vision in the bath-room, until his conversation with her, after that vision, on the yoked elm grove near the pond. He recalled how from that time she alternately reddened and grew pale at the sight of him; how she drooped her eyes and how she sent them after him whenever it seemed to her that he was not observing. From one view, Ladislaus accepted this as the sequel of the incident in the bath-room; from another as admiration for his shapeliness. This admiration, indeed, flattered his masculine vanity, but he did not give it much thought, as, having his mind absorbed with Miss Anney, her servant did not concern him. Now, however, he understood that this was something more than the blandishments of an artful chambermaid after a handsome young heir, and that this maiden had become distractedly infatuated with him and in a kind of morbid manner. His love for Miss Anney was too deep and true for him to be pleased with such a state of affairs or for him to think that after his wounds were healed he could take advantage of the maiden's feelings in the fashion of a gallant. On the contrary, the thought that he had unwittingly aroused such feelings appeared disagreeable and irksome to him. He was seized by a fear of what might result from it. There came to him, as if in a vision, troubles, scenes, and entanglements, which such a passion might produce. He understood that this was a fire with which he could not thoughtlessly play; that he would have to be careful and not give her any encouragement. He decided also, notwithstanding the pity and sympathy he felt in the depth of his heart for the maiden, to avoid in the future all conversations, all jests, and everything which might draw her nearer to him, encourage intimacy, or provoke in the future outbursts similar to the one of that day. It even occurred to him to request Miss Anney not to send her to him any more, but he abandoned that resolution, observing that it might cause sorrow or cast upon him a shadow of ludicrousness. Finally he came to the conclusion that above all it was incumbent upon him not to ask the maid about anything; not to demand any explanation as to the meaning of that outbreak and those tears, and to behave coolly and distantly.

In the meantime the maiden, at the window, having regained her composure, again approached the bed and spoke in a meek and hesitating voice:

"I beg your pardon, sir. Be not angry at me, sir."

He closed his eyes and only after an interval replied:

"Little lady, I am not angry, but I need peace."

"I beg pardon," she repeated yet more meekly.

However she observed that he spoke in a different tone, drier and colder than previously, and intense uncertainty was depicted upon her countenance, for she did not know whether this was the momentary dissatisfaction of the patient, who, in reality, did desire quiet or whether it was the displeasure of the young heir at her-a servant maid-having dared to betray her feelings. Fearing, however, to again offend him, she became silent and seating herself upon the chair which Miss Anney had occupied, she took from the commode the work which previously had been brought and began to sew, glancing from time to time with great uneasiness, and as if in fear, at Ladislaus. He also cast stealthy glances at her, and seeing her regular features, as if carved out of stone, her sharply outlined brows, the dark down above her lips, and the energetic, almost inflexible, expression of her face, he thought that it would be much easier for a man who could arouse the thoughts and feelings of such a girl to form various ties than later to be able to free himself from them.

IV

Contrary to expectations, the doctor did not arrive that day, owing to an unusual number of engagements and a few important operations which he was compelled to perform without delay. Instead, he sent a young hospital attendant, skilled in dressing wounds, with a letter in which he requested Gronski to inform the ladies that they should consider his postponed visit as proof that no danger actually threatened the wounded man. Ladislaus, however was not pleased with this news, for the wounds tormented him acutely; particularly the flesh torn by the bullet along the ribs afflicted him painfully; and besides, his mother felt worse. The asthmatic spell recurred, after which a general weakness followed, so that notwithstanding her warmest wishes she was not able to rise from her bed. Pani Otocka did not leave her for the entire day, and at night her place was to be taken by Miss Anney, who, however, needing rest after the recent events and, passing a sleepless night, was sent to sleep by both sisters and Gronski. The rôle of the housekeeper of Jastrzeb was assumed by Marynia, for she wanted by all means to be useful, and was not permitted to attend to the patients. Instead, she was intrusted with all the keys; the management of the house; with conferring and taking an accounting with the cook whom she feared a little and did not like, because he looked upon her as if she was a child who was amusing herself rather than one upon whose shoulders rested the responsibility of superintending everything. She adopted a mien full of importance, but nevertheless "the dear gentleman," that is Gronski, had to promise that he would be present, as if by chance, in the room when the accounting was taking place.

As, after the arrival of the doctor on the third day, it appeared that Ladislaus' condition was quite favorable and Pani Krzycki's asthmatic spells were leaving her and her nerves were getting in order, the general aspect of Jastrzeb became calmer and happier. Dolhanski began to fill with a certain humor the rôle of a generalissimo of all the armed forces of Jastrzeb while Gronski played the part of military governor. The doctor brought with him a second nurse, who thenceforth was to alternate with the one who came previously. This relieved the ladies of the house of the necessity of continual watchfulness and unnecessary fatigue. Ladislaus alone was dissatisfied with the arrangement, for he understood that now Miss Anney would not pass days and nights in his chamber, and that in all probability he would not see her until he was able to leave his bed. In fact, it happened that way. Several times during the day she would come to the anteroom, send through the attendants whatever was needed, inquire about his health and also send a "good-night" or "good-day" but would not enter the room. Ladislaus sighed, swore quietly, and made life miserable for his attendants, and when he learned from Dolhanski of the enthusiasm with which the doctor spoke of Miss Anney he began to suspect him of purposely sending the attendants in order to make it more difficult for him to see her. His mother rose the fourth day and, feeling much better, visited him daily and sat up with him for hours. Ladislaus often asked himself the question whether she surmised his feelings. They were indeed known to all the guests in the house, but there was a possibility that she did not suspect anything, as for a considerable time before the occurrence in the forest she did not, in truth, leave her room; in consequence of which she seldom saw her son and Miss Anney together. Krzycki often deliberated over the question whether he should speak with his mother at once about it or defer the matter to a later date. In favor of the first thought, there was the consideration that his mother, while he lay in bed wounded, would not dare to interpose any strenuous objections from fear that his condition might grow worse. But on the other hand, such calculation, in which his beloved one and the whole happiness of his life were involved, appeared to him that day as miserable craftiness. He thought besides that to extort an assent from his mother through his sickness would be something derogatory to Miss Anney, before whom the doors of the Jastrzeb manor-house and the arms of the entire family should be widely and joyfully opened. But he was restrained by another consideration. And this was that, notwithstanding the conversation he at one time had with Gronski, notwithstanding the words he exchanged with the lady, notwithstanding her solicitude, her sacrifices, and the courage with which she did not hesitate to drive for the doctor, and finally notwithstanding the visible marks of feeling which could be discerned in every glance she bestowed upon him, Ladislaus doubted and did not dare to believe in his own good fortune. He was young, inexperienced, in love not only up to his ears but like a student; therefore full of alternating uncertainties, hopes, joys, and doubts. He doubted also himself. At times he felt at his shoulders wings, as it were, and in his soul a desire for lofty flights; a latent ability to perform acts clearly heroic; and at other times he thought: "Who am I, that such a flower should fall upon my bosom? There are people who are endowed with talent; who possess education; and others who have millions, and I, what? I am a mere nobleman farmer, who will all his life dig the soil, like a mole. Have I then the right to pinion to such a life, or rather to confine in a sort of cage such a paradisiacal bird, which soars freely across the firmament for the delectation and admiration of mankind?" And he was seized by despair. But when he pictured to himself that the moment might arrive when this paradisiacal bird might fly away forever from him, then he looked upon it with amazement as if upon a calamity which he did not deserve. He also had his hours of hope, especially in the morning when he felt better and stronger. Then he recalled everything that had taken place between them, from her first arrival at Jastrzeb and his meeting her at Zarnowski's funeral until that last night when he pressed her hand to his lips and gained greater confidence. Why, at that time, she told him "not a word about anything until the wounds are healed." Therefore through that alone she gave to him the right to repeat to her that she was dearer to him than the whole world and to surrender into her hands his fate, his future, and his entire life. Let her do with them what she will.

In the meanwhile his mother will accustom herself to her, will grow more intimate, and become more attached to her. And her maternal heart is so full of admiration and gratitude for what Miss Anney had done for him that from her lips fell the words "God sent her here." Ladislaus smiled at the thought that his mother, however, ascribed the sacrifices and courage of the young maiden not to any ardent feeling but to an exceptionally honest heart, as well as to English training, which was conducive to energy alike in men and women. And she had likewise repeated to Pani Otocka several times that she would like to bring up her Anusia to be such a brave woman; give her such strength, health, and such love for her "fellow-men." Pani Otocka smiled also, hearing these praises, and Ladislaus thought that Miss Anney perhaps would not have done the same for her fellow-men, and this thought filled him with happiness.

Eventually he became quite certain that his mother would consent to his marriage with Miss Anney, but he was anxious as to how she would agree. And in this regard he was much distressed. His mother, judged by former requirements and conceptions, was a person of more than medium education. She possessed high social refinement, read a number of books, and was proficient in the French and Italian languages. During her younger days she passed considerable time abroad, but only her closest friends could tell how many national and hereditary prejudices were concealed in her and to what extent all that was not Polish, particularly if it did not of necessity come from France, appeared to her peculiar, outlandish, strange, and even shocking. This appeared accidentally once before the attack upon Ladislaus when she saw Miss Anney's English prayer-book and, opening it, noticed a prayer beginning with "Oh Lord." Belonging to a generation which did not study English, and having lived in retirement for many years in Jastrzeb, Pani Krzycki could not imagine the Lord other than a being with yellow whiskers, dressed in checkered clothes, and to Marynia's great amusement could not by any means understand how the Divinity could be thus addressed. In vain Ladislaus explained to her that in the French and Polish languages analogical titles are given to God. She regarded that as something different, and exacted a promise from Miss Anney that she would pray from a Polish book, which she promised to buy for her.

Finally the fact that Miss Anney was not in all probability a member of the nobility would play an important part. Ladislaus feared that his mother, having consented to the marriage, might in the depths and secrecy of her soul, deem it a mésalliance. This thought irritated and depressed him immeasurably and was one of the reasons why he postponed his consultation with his mother until their arrival in Warsaw.

He was angered yet more at his enforced confinement in his bed; so that for three days he declared each evening that he would rise the following morning, and when on the fourth day Miss Anney and Marynia said to him through the doorway, "Good-day," he actually did get up, but in his weakened condition, he suffered from dizziness and was forced to lie down again. He was steadily improving, however; he continued to sigh more and more and felt his inactivity most keenly.

"I have got enough of this loquacious doctor," he said to Gronski, "enough of dressings and iodoform. I envy not only you, sir, but even Dolhanski, who is roaming about on my horses all over creation, and very likely reaches as far as Gorek."

"He does," answered Gronski gayly, "and this leads me to think that he makes a mystery of it, for he has ceased to talk about those ladies."

This was but a half truth for Dolhanski did actually go to Gorek but did not remain entirely silent about the ladies, for returning the next day, he entered Ladislaus' room, bearing with him still the odor of the horse, and said:

"Imagine to yourself that the Wlocek ladies received a command from some kind of committee from under a dark star to pay under the penalty of death one thousand roubles for 'party' purposes."

"There you have it!" cried Gronski. "Now that is becoming an every-day occurrence. Who knows whether similar commands are not awaiting us upon our desks in Warsaw?"

"Well, what of it?" asked Ladislaus.

"Nothing," answered Dolhanski; "those ladies first argued as to who was to first expose her breast to shield the other; then fainted; after that they came to, then began to bid each other farewell, and finally asked me my advice as to what was to be done."

"And what advice did you give them?"

"I advised them to tell the executors of the command, who would come for the money, that their plenipotentiary and treasurer, Pan Dolhanski, resided at such and such address in Warsaw."

"Really, did you advise them to do that?"

"I give you my word."

"In such a case, they will undoubtedly call upon you."

"You can imagine what rich booty they will get! I also will have some recreation in these tedious times."

"Pardon me," said Gronski, "the times are trying; that is certain, but no one can say that they are tedious."

"But for whom?" answered Dolhanski. "If I ever borrow money from you, then I will have to conform to your inclination, but before that time you cannot draw me into any political discussion. In the meantime I will only tell you this much, that I am the only social microbe that can remain at perfect peace. All that I require is that 'bridge' should be going normally at the club and soon this will be impossible. These times may be interesting to you but not for me."

"At any rate," observed Gronski, "a certain ventilation of torpid conditions is taking place, and since you compared yourself to a microbe, by the same token, you admit that these are times for disinfection."