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THE ARGONAUTS
THE ARGONAUTS
BY
ELIZA ORZESZKO
TRANSLATED FROM THE POLISH BY
JEREMIAH CURTIN
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1901
Copyright, 1901, bv JEREMIAH CURTIN
All rights reserved
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INTRODUCTORY
Eliza Orzeszko, the authoress of "The Argonauts," is the greatest female writer and thinker in the Slav world at present. There are keen and good critics, just judges of thought and style, who pronounce her the first literary artist among the women of Europe.
These critics are not Western Europeans, for Western Europe has no means yet of appreciating this gifted woman. Ko doubt it will have these means after a time in the form of adequate translations. Meanwhile I repeat that she is the greatest authoress among all the Slav peoples. She is a person of rare intellectual distinction, an observer of exquisite perception in studying men and women, and the difficulties with which they have to struggle.
Who are the Slavs among whom Eliza Orzeszko stands thus distinguished?
The Slavs form a very large majority of the people in Aus- tria-Hungary, an immense majority in European Turkey, and an overwhelming majority in the Eussian Empire; they are besides an unyielding, though repressed, majority in that part of Prussian territory known as Posen in Ger- man, and Poznan in Polish.
The Slav race occupies an immense region extending from Prussia, Bohemia, and the Adriatic eastward to the Pacific Ocean. Its main divisions are the Eussians, Poles, Bohemians (Chehs), Serbs, Bulgarians; its smaller divisions are the Slovaks, Wends, Slovinians, Croats, Montenegrins.
vi Introductory
These all have literature in some form, literature which in respect to the world outside is famous, well known, little known, or unknown.
The Slavs have behind them a history dramatic to the utmost, varied, full of suffering, full also of heroism in endurance or valor.
The present time is momentous for all nations, the future is a tangled riddle; for the Slavs this seems true in a double measure. To involved social problems is added race opposition in the breasts of neighbors, a deep, sullen historic hostility. Hence when a writer of power appears among the Slavs, whether he takes up the past or the present, he has that at hand through which he compels the whole world to listen. Sienkiewicz has shown this, so has Tolstoy, so have Dostoyevski and Gogol.
The present volume gives in translation a book which should be widely read with much pleasure. The winning of money on an immense scale to the neglect of all other objects, to the neglect even of the nearest duties, is the sin of one Argonaut; the utter neglect of money and the proper means of living is the ruin of the other.
Darvid by " iron toil " laid the basis of a splendid struct- ure, but went no farther; he had not the time, he had not the power, perhaps, to build thereon himself, and his wife, to whom he left the task, had not .the character to do so. By neglect of duty Darvid is brought to madness; by neglect of money Kranitski is brought to be a parasite, and when he loses even that position he is supported by a ser- vant.
The right use of wealth, the proper direction of labor, these are supreme questions in our time, and beyond all in America.
Friends have advised Madame Orzeszko to visit this coun-
Introductory vii
try and study it; visit Chicago, the great business centre, the most active city on earth, and New York, the great money capital. If she comes she will see much to rouse thought. What will she see? That we know how to win money and give proper use to it? Whatever she sees, it will he some- thing of value, that is undoubted; something that may be compared with European conditions, something to be com- pared with the story in this book.
Eliza Orzeszko writes because she cannot help writing; her works, contained in forty-odd volumes, touch on the most vital subjects in the world about her. She tells the truth precisely as she sees it. We may hope for much yet from the pen of this lady, who is still in the best years of her intellectual activity.
Madame Orzeszko was bom a little more than fifty years ago in Lithuania, that part of the Commonwealth which produced Mickiewicz,^ the great poet, and Kosciuszko^ the hero.
Jeremiah Cuetin.
Bristol, Vt., U. S. A., September 12, 1901.
' Pronounced Mitsk^vitch ; the e as ai in Tain. ^ Pronounced Kostsushko ; the u as oo in boot.
THE ARGONAUTS
CHAPTER I
It was the mansion of a millionaire. On the furniture and the walls of drawing-rooms, colors and gleams played as on the surface of a pearl shell. Mirrors reflected pictures, and inlaid floors shone like mirrors. Here and there dark tapestry and massive curtains seemed to decrease the effect, but only at first sight, for, in fact, they lent the whole in- terior a dignity which was almost churchlike. At some points everything glistened, gleamed, changed into azure, scarlet, gold, bronze, and the various tints of white peculiar to plaster-of-Paris, marble, silk, porcelain. In that house were products of Chinese and Japanese skill; the styles of remote ages were there, and the most exquisite and elegant among modern styles, lamps, chandeliers, candlesticks, vases, ornamental art in its highest development. Withal much taste and skill was evident, a certain tact in placing things, and a keenness in disposing them, which indicated infallibly the hand and the mind of a woman who was far above mediocrity.
The furnishing of this mansion must have cost sums which to the poor would seem colossal, and very considerable even to the wealthy.
Aloysius Darvid, the owner of this mansion, had not in- herited his millions; he had won them with his own iron labor, and he toiled continually to increase them. His in-
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dustry, inventiveness, and energy were inexhaustible. To him business seemed to be what water is to a fish: the ele- ment which gives delight and freedom. What was his busi- ness? Great and complicated enterprises: the erection of public edifices, the purchase, sale, and exchange of values of various descriptions, exchanges in many markets and corporations. To finish all this business it was necessary to possess qualities of the most opposite character: the courage of the lion and the caution of the fox, the talons of the fal- con and the elasticity of the cat. His life was passed at a gaming-table, composed of the whole surface of a gigantic State; that life was a species of continuous punting at a bank kept by blind chance rather frequently; for calcula- tion and skill, which meant very much in his career, could not ehminate chance altogether, that power which appears independently. Hence, he must not let chance overthrow him; he might drop to the earth before its thrusts and contract a muscle, but only to parry, make an elastic spring, and seize new booty. His career was success rising and fall- ing like a river, it was also a fever, ceaselessly bathed in cool calculation and reckoning.
As to the rest, post-wagons, railways, bells at railway sta- tions, urging to haste, glittering snows of the distant North, mountains towering on the boundary between two parts of the world, rivers cutting through uninhabited regions, horizons marked with the gloomy lines of Siberian forests, sohtary since the beginning of ages. Then, as a change: noise, glitter, throngs, the brilliancy of capitals, and in those capitals a multitude of doors, some of which open with freedom, while others are closed hermetically; before doors of the second sort the pliancy of the cat's paw is needed; this finds a hole where the broad way is im- possible.
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He was forced to be absent from his family for long months, sometimes for whole years, and even when living under the same roof with the members of it he was a rare guest, never a real confiding companion. For permanence, intimacy, tender feeling in relations, with even those who were nearest him, Darvid had not the time, just as he had not the time to concentrate his thoughts on any subject whatever unless it was connected with his lines, dates, and figures, or with the meshes of that net in which he enclosed his thoughts and his iron labor.
As to amusements and delights of life, they were at inter- vals love-afi^airs, flashing up on a sudden, transient, fleeting, vanishing with the smoke of the locomotive which rushed forward, at times luxuries of the table peculiar to various climates, or majestic scenery which forced itself on the eye by its grandeur and disappeared quickly, or some hours of animated card-playing; but, above all, relations with social magnates, who were on the one hand of use, and on the other an immensely great honor to his vanity. Money and significance, these were the two poles around which all Darvid's thoughts, desires, and feelings circled; or, at least, it might seem all, for who can be certain that nothing exists in a man save that which is manifest in his actions? Surely no one, not the man himself even.
After three years' absence, Darvid had returned only a few months before to his native city, and to his own house, where he was as ever a rare and inattentive guest. He was laboring again. In the first week, on the first day almost, he discovered a new field; he was very anxious to seize this field, and begin his Herculean eiforts on it. But the seizure depended on a certain very highly placed personage to whom, up to that time, he had not been able to gain ad- mittance.
The Argonauts
The cat's paw had played about a number of times to open a crevice in the closed door, but in vain! He desired a confidential talk of two hours, but could not obtain it. He turned then to a method which had given him real service frequently.
He found an individual who had the art of squeezing into all places, of winning everyone, of digging from under the earth circumstances, relations, influences. Individuals of this kind are generally dubious in character, but this con- cerned Darvid in no way. He considered that at the bottom of life dregs are found as surely as slime is in rivers which have golden sand. He thought of life's dregs and smiled contemptuously, but did not hesitate to handle those dregs, and see if there were golden grains in them. He called his dubious assistants hounds, for they tracked game in thickets inaccessible to the hunter. Small, almost invisible, they were still better able than he to contract muscles, creep up or spring over. He had let out such a hound a few days before to gain the desired audience, and had received no news from him thus far. This disturbed and annoyed Darvid greatly. He would rush into the new work like a lion into an arena, and spring at fresh prey.
The evening twilight came down into the series of great and small chambers. Darvid, in his study, furnished with such dignified wealth that it was almost severe in the rich lamp-light, received men who came on affairs of various descriptions: with reports, accounts, requests, proposals.
In that study everything was dark-colored, massive, grand in its proportions, of great price, but not flashy. Not the least object was showy or fantastic; nothing was visible save dignity and comfort. There were books behind the glass of a splendid bookcase, two great pictures on the wall, a desk with piles of papers, in the middle of the room a
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round table covered with maps, pamphlets, thick volumes; around the table, heavy, deep and low armchairs. The room was spacious with a lofty ceiling, from which hung over the round table a splendid lamp, burning brightly.
Darvid's remote prototype, the Argonaut Jason, must have had quite a different exterior when he sailed on toward Colchis to find the golden fleece. Time, which changes the methods of contest, changes the forms of its knights correspondingly. Jason trusted in the strength of his arm and his sword-blade. Darvid trusted in his brain and his nerves only. Hence, in him, brain and nerves were devel- oped to the prejudice of muscles, creating a special power, which one had to know in order to recognize it in that slender and not lofty figure, in that face with shrunken cheeks, covered with skin which was dry, pale, and as mo- bile as if quivering from every breeze which carried his bark toward the shores which he longed for. On his cheeks shone narrow strips of whiskers, almost bronze-hued; the silky ends of these fell on his stiff, low collar; ruddy mus- taches, short and firm, darkened his pale, thin lips, which had a smile in the changeableness of which was great ex- pression; this smile encouraged, discouraged, attracted, re- pelled, believed, doubted, courted or jeered — jeered fre- quently. But the main seat of power in Darvid seemed to be his eyes, which rested long and attentively on that which he examined. These eyes had pupils of steel color, cold, very deep, and with a fulness of penetrating light which was often sharp, under brows which were prominent, whose ruddy lines were drawn under a high forehead, increased further by incipien!; baldness — a forehead which was smooth and had the polish of ivory; between the brows were nu- merous wrinkles, like a cloud of anxiety and care. His was a cold, reasoning face, energetic, with the stamp of thought
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fixed between the brows, and lines of irony which had made the mouth drawn.
A jurist, one of the most renowned in that great city, held in his hand an open volume of the Code, and was reading aloud a series of extracts from it. Darvid was standing and listening attentively, but irony increased in his smile, and, when the jurist stopped reading, he began in a low voice. This voice with its tones suppressed, as it were, through caution, was one of Darvid's peculiarities.
'* Pardon me, but what you have read has no relation to the point which concerns us."
Taking the book he turned over its pages for a while and began then to read from it. In reading he used glasses with horn-rims; from these the yellowish pallor of his lean face became deeper. The renowned jurist was confused and astonished.
" You are right," said he. " I was mistaken. You kno^* law famously."
How was he to avoid knowing it, since it was his weapon and safety-valve!
The jurist sat down on one of the broad and low arm- chairs in silence, and now the architect unrolled on the table the plan of a pubUc edifice to which the last finish was to be given during winter and before work began in spring.
Darvid listened again in silent thought, looking at the plan with his steel-colored eyes, in which at times there flashed sparks of ideas coming from the brain — ideas which, after a while, he presented to the trained architect. He spoke in a voice low and fluent; he spoke connectedly and very clearly. The architect answered with respect, and, like, the jurist who had preceded, not without a certain astonish- ment. Great God! this man knows everything; he moves as freely in the fields of architecture, mathematics, and law
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as in his own chamber! Darvid noticed the astonishment of those around him, and irony settled on his thin lips. Did those men imagine that he could begin such undertakings and be like a blind man among colors? Some begin thus but are ruined! He understood that in our time immense knowledge is the only foundation for pyramidal fortunes, and his memory alone knew the long series of nights which had passed above his head while it was sleepless in winning knowledge.
Next appeared before the table a young man, lean and slender; his dark eyes expressed genius, his clothing was threadbare, his gestures almost vulgar. This was a sculptor, young but already famous. The man had incipient con- sumption, which brought excessive ruddiness to his face, a glitter to his eyes, and a short, rasping cough from his breast. He spoke of the sculptures which he was to finish for the edifices reared by the great contractor; he showed the drawings of them, and explained his ideas; he rose to en- thusiasm; he spoke more loudly, and coughed at more fre- quent intervals. Darvid raised his head; the sensitive skin on his cheeks quivered with a delicate movement; he touched the shoulder of the artist with the tips of two white, slender fingers.
" Eest,'' said he; " it hurts you to speak too long."
" My younger daughter coughs in just this way," re- marked he to the other men present, " and it troubles me somewhat."
" Perhaps a visit to Italy," said the architect.
" Yes, I have thought of that, but the doctors note noth- ing dangerous so far."
Then he turned to the sculptor:
" You ought to visit Italy, for its collections of art and — its climate."
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The artist, not pleased with this interruption, did not answer directly, but went on showing his projects and ex- plaining them; though his short breath and the cough, which was repeated oftener, made his conversation more difl&cult. Thereupon Darvid straightened himself.
" I know very little of art," said he. " Not because I de- spise it; on the contrary, I think art a power, since the world does it homage, but because I lack time. Trouble yourself no further to exhibit plans and ideas here. I con- firm them beforehand, knowing well what I do. Prince Zeno, whose good taste and intellect I admire, advised me to turn to you. At his house, moreover, I have seen works of your chisel which charmed me. Some declare that we men of finance and business represent only matter, and have no concern with Psyche (the soul). But I say that your Psyche, now in Prince Zeno's palace, produced on me the impression that I am not matter only."
Irony covered his lips, but with increased amiability he added:
" Let us fix the amount of your honorarium, permit me to take the initiative," said he, hurriedly.
In a tone of inquiry he mentioned a sum which was very considerable. The sculptor bowed, unwilling, or unable to conceal his delight and astonishment. Darvid touched him lightly on the arm, and conducted him to a great desk, one drawer of which he opened. The jurist and the archi- tect at the round table exchanged glances.
"A protege of the prince!" whispered one.
" Cleverness! advertising! " whispered the other.
** I know from report," said Darvid, to the young artist, " that sculptors must spend considerable sums before they begin a given work. Here is an advance. Do not hesitate. Money should be at the service of talent."
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The sculptor was astonished. He had imagined the millionaire as entirely different.
" Money should be at the service of talent! " repeated he. " I hear this for the first time from a man having money! Do you really think so ? "
Darvid smiled, but his face clouded immediately.
" My dear sir," said he, " I would give, I think, much money if a cough like yours were not in the world."
" Because of your daughter — " began the sculptor, but Darvid had grown cold now, ceremonious, and he turned toward the round table.
At the same moment a servant announced from the door a new guest.
" Pan Arthur Kranitski."
The guest entered immediately after the servant, and passed the outgoing sculptor in the door.
This guest was a man who carried his fifth decade of years with youthful elasticity of movement, and with a pleasant, winning expression on his still handsome face. In general he seemed to be clothed with remnants of great manly beauty, from behind which, like soiled lining through rents in a once splendid robe, appeared, carefully concealed, old age, which was premature, perhaps.
A tall man with a shapely oval face, he had dark whiskers, and the black curls of his hair did not cover successfully the bald spot appearing on the back of his head; his mustache was curled upward, in the fashion of young men, above ruddy lips; he passed through the study with a youthful step, and had the express intention of greeting the master of the house in a cordial and intimate manner. But in the cold eyes of Darvid appeared flashes well-nigh threatening; he barely touched with his finger-tips the hand extended by the guest — a hand really aristocratic, white, slender, and greatly cared for.
The Argonauts
"Pardon, pardon, dear Pan Aloysius, that I come at this hour, just the hour of thy important, immense, colossal occupations! But on receiving thy invitation I hastened."
" Yes," said Darvid, " I need to talk with you a little — will you wait a while? "
He turned toward the two men standing by the table, who when he greeted Kranitski looked at him with a curi- osity impossible to conceal.
Every meeting of Darvid with that eternal guest, that offshoot of aristocratic families, roused the curiosity of people. For a good while Darvid did not know this, but at last he discovered it, and now his quick glance caught on the lips of the famous jurist a barely discernible smile, to meet which a similar smile appeared on the lips of the architect. He discoursed a few minutes more with the two men. When they turned to go he conducted them to the door; when that was closed he turned to Kranitski and said:
" Now I am at your service."
No one had ever seen service so icy cold, and having in it the shade of a restrained threat. Kranitski in view of this spent more time than was needed in placing his hat on one of the pieces of furniture, besides an expression of alarm covered his face, now bent forward, and, in the twinkle of an eye, the wrinkling of his forehead and the dropping of his cheeks, made him look ten years older. Still with grace which was unconscious, since it had passed long before into habit, he turned to Darvid.
" Thou hast written to me, dear Pan Aloysius "
" I have called you," interrupted Darvid, " for the pur- pose rf proposing a certain condition, and a change."
From a thick, long book he cut out a page, on which, pre- viously, he had written a few words in haste, and giving it
to Kranitski, he said:
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"Here is a bank check for a considerable sum. Your affairs, as I hear, are in a very disagreeable condition."
Kranitski's face grew radiant from delight, and became ten years younger. Taking the check presented to him he began, with a certain hesitation:
" Dear Pan Aloysius, this service, really friendly, which thou art rendering me, even without request on my part, is truly magnanimous, but be assured that the moment income from my property increases "
Darvid interrupted him a second time.
" We know each other so long that I cannot be ignorant of what your property is, and what income you receive from it. You have no property. You own a little village, the income from which has never sufficed to satisfy even one- half of your needs. In that little village you would have passed your life unknown to the great world if your mother had not been a relative of Prince Zeno, and some other coronets of nine quarterings. But since you had relation- ship so brilliant through your mother, high society did not suffer from the loss of your presence. I know all that re- lates to you, you need not try to lead me into error — I know everything."
On the last words he put an emphasis which seemed to bring Kranitski into a profound confusion, which he could not master.
" Parole d'honneur," began he, " I do not understand such a real friendly service with such a tone."
" You will understand at once. This sum offered you is not a friendly service, but a simple commercial transaction. To begin with, I insist that for the future you cut short all relations with my son Maryan."
Kranitski stepped back a number of paces.
"With Maryan!" exclaimed he, as if not wishing to
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believe his own ears. " I break all relations with him! Is it possible? Why? How can that be? But you your- self "
" That is true, I myself began this. I wished that my family, which, during my frequent absences, resided here permanently, should move in that social sphere which I con- sidered most desirable, and I asked you to be the link be- tween my family and that sphere — '■ — "
" I did what you desired," interrupted Kranitski in turn, and raising his head.
Darvid, looking firmly into his face, said in a low voice, slowly, but the ice of his tones seemed at moments to break from the boiling of passion confined beneath them.
" Yes, but you, sir, have demoralized my son. Of him- self he would never have gone to such a degree of corrup- tion and idleness. You drew him from study, you led liim into all kinds of sport, you took him to all places of amuse- ment, from the highest to the lowest. On returning, after three years' absence, I found Maryan withered morally. Luckily he is a child yet, twenty-three years of age, it is possible to save him. The process of salvation I begin by forbidding you to have any further relations whatever with my son."
Darvid grew terrible during his remaining words. His fingers were sinking into the table, on which he rested his hand. The cluster of wrinkles between his brows became deeper, his eyes had the flash of steel in them; he was all hatred, anger, contempt. But Kranitski, who at first lis- tened to him as if unable to move from astonishment, boiled up also with anger.
" TVTiat do you say? " cried he. " Does not my hearing deceive me? You reproach me! Me, who during your ceaseless occupations and absences have been for many
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years, one may say, the only guardian of your family, and director of your son. Well! Then do you not remember our former intimacy, and this, that it was I who made you acquainted with the highest families of this city, and all this country ? Do you not remember your confidential state- ments to me that you wished to give your daughters in mar- riage within those circles to which my connections might be a convenient bridge for you? Do you not remember your requests that I should introduce Maryan into the best society, and teach him the manners prevailing there? Very well! You were making your millions in peace, going after them to the ends of the earth, while I did everything that you wished, and now I meet with reproaches, which, at the very least, are expressed without delicacy — des reproches, des grossieretes — Mais ga n'a pas de nom! c'est inoui! This demands the satisfaction of honor."
His indignation was genuine and heartfelt; it brought out a deep flush on his still shapely face, A stony amaze- ment fell on Darvid. True, true, that man spoke the truth. He, Darvid, had used him for his purposes; he had liked the man, almost loved him; he had given him great con- fidence. He had not looked into his character; he had not tried to know him, though he had found time to analyze and know men who took no part in his business. But the fact in this case was, that whatever had happened, had hap- pened with his own will. From the depth of his bosom, from out their mysterious den, came a coil of snakes, and a repulsive coldness and slime rose toward his throat, still he reared his head.
" There is much truth in what you say; still my decisive and repeated wish is that you cease to appear in my house."
Kranitski's forehead was flushed with blood, and the words were hissing on his lips when he cried:
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" In view of such feelings of yours toward me, how am I to explain the service rendered just now? "
" As pay for service which you have rendered me, or my family. I pay, we are at quits, and part forever."
" You are not the only power in this world! " cried Kranitski; " not your will alone can open or close the doors of this house to me."
Darvid, so pale that even his thin lips did not seem to possess a drop of blood, took from a letter-case and showed Kranitski, between two fingers, a letter in a small elegant envelope, bearing the address of Pani Malvina Darvid. The dark flush vanished from Kranitski without a trace; he became very pale and rested his hand on the arm of the chair; his eyes opened widely. Silence lasted some seconds; between those two men with faces as pale as Hnen hung the terror of a discovered secret. Darvid, with a voice so stifled that it was barely audible, was the first to speak.
"How this letter came into my hands we need not ex- plain! Simply by chance. Such chances are very common, and they have in them only this good, that at times they put an end to deceit and — villainy! "
Kranitski, still very pale except that red spots were com- ing out on his forehead, looked very old all at once; he advanced some steps and stood before Darvid, the round table alone was between them. With stifled voice, but fix- ing his black, flashing eyes boldly on Darvid's face, he said:
"Deceit! villainy! those words are said easily! Do you not know that in early youth your wife was almost my betrothed?"
Darvid's lips were covered with irony, and he said:
*' You deserted her at command of your mother, when she sent you to this capital in search of the golden fleece."
" And when you went to the ends of the earth for it,"
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answered Kranitski, you thought proper to place me to guard the woman whom I loved formerly. You considered yourself invincible, even when separated by hundreds or thousands of miles from her "
" Let us stop this ridiculous discussion," said Darvid.
" As for me/' put in Kranitski, with animation, " I will finish it by offering you any satisfaction which you may demand. I await your seconds."
Darvid laughed loudly and sharply.
" A duel! Do you think that the world would not know the cause of it? Your former betrothed would appear in the matter. For that I should care less, though I must care, for she bears my name, but I have daughters, and I have business "
He was silent a while, then he finished:
" A scandal might injure my business, and most assuredly would injure the future of my daughters; therefore I will neither challenge you to a duel, nor will I direct my servants to thrash you! "
A trembling shook Kranitski from head to foot, as if from the effects of a blow; he straightened himself, he be- came manful, and crushing in his hand the bank check which he had received, hurled that paper bullet into Dar- vid's face so directly that it hit him at the top of his bronze- colored whiskers and fell to his feet. Then with elastic movement, and with a grace which was unconscious and uncommon, he turned toward the door and strode out. Darvid remained alone. In that spacious, lofty chamber, richly furnished, in the abundant light of a costly lamp, he remained alone. Clasping his inclined head with both hands, he squeezed it with his white, lean fingers, as with pincers. How many vexations and troubles had met him here after an absence of years! There was something greater
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still than even these vexations and troubles. The coil of serpents rose in his breast and crawled up to his very throat. That was torture mixed with a feeling of unendurable dis- gust. But Darvid avoided high-sounding phrases, and would never think or say: torture, disgust. That was a manner of speaking for idlers and poets. He, a man of iron indus- try, knew only the words vexation, trouble. What is he to do now with that woman? Throw her out like a beast which, bathed in milk and honey by its owner, has bitten him to the blood? Impossible. His children, especially his daugh- ters, his business, his position, his house — scandals are harm- ful in every way. So he must live on under the same roof with her; meet the sight of her face, her eyes — those eyes which on a time were for him — ^yes, it cannot be otherwise. He must endure that and master himself; master himself mightily, so as not to let things reach a scene, or reproaches, or explanation. Naturally, no scenes, disputes, or explana- tions. For, first of all, what can they profit? Nothing save a useless expense of energy, and he needs energy so much. Besides, the very best punishment for that woman is un- broken silence, which will raise between her and him an impenetrable wall. From words, even though they be as sharp as sword-edges, some sound may be got, some slight hope of salvation; but silence, concealing hidden knowledge of a deed, is a coflfin in which, from the first hour of each day to the end of it, that woman's pride will be placed with all that in her may still be human. Contempt as silent as the grave! She will eat of his millions, seasoned with his contempt. She will array herself in his millions, interwoven with his hatred. Hatred? Oh, beyond doubt he hates her with passion, and only at times does her name move marvel- lously through his brain with such sounds as if they were the echo of things very dear, things lost forever and ir-
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replaceable. Can it be? Is it possi])le that she did that? Malvina, once an ideal maiden, and ten years later a woman so loving that when he was going on a journey she threw herself on her knees and wept, and then besought him not to go from her! He remembers the scene perfectly. Her hair of pale gold, dropping then in disorder to her shoulders and bosom — her magnificent hair, surrounded by which the tears flowing down her face glistened like dia- monds! He raised his head, straightened himself. What stupidity! On what sentiment and exaltation is he losing time and energy! He needs them for something else. He needs to concentrate all his forces to bring his new de- signs to the desired culmination. Why does " that hound " not show himself and bring the answer needed? Ah, if he could only get one hour of that conversation, he would convince; he would capture; he would overcome rivals, and seize into his own sole possession new fields of industry and speculation! There are hindrances, intrigues, dangerous rivalries, he knows of them, and these oppositions it is precisely which attract him most of all. Now especially, with those vexations and troubles, victory and the new work would be as a spoonful of hashish to him, or a glass of strong, invigorating wine. He must go to the club. A game of cards, to which he devotes some night hours fre- quently, is not specially pleasant, but he plays with persons of high position in society, or with those who are needed in his business. He will find perhaps, also, that man for whom he has been waiting, vainly, some days.
He was extending his hand to the button of the electric bell when from behind the portieres which half hid the door opening to the interior of the mansion a thin and timid voice came; one could hardly tell whether it was the voice of a child or a young lady:
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" Is it permitted to enter? "
Darvid went to the door hurriedly, saying, also hurriedly:
"It is! It is!"
At that moment, from the darkness which filled the ad- joining room, into the abundant light of the study, came a maiden of fifteen years, in a bright dress; she was tall and very slender, with a small waist and narrow breast. An immense wealth of pale, golden hair seemed to bend back with its weight her small, shapely head somewhat; her oval face, with its delicate features, had the blush of spring on it; her lips were like cherries, and under the arches of her dark brows were large dark eyes. Right behind the bright dress of the girl came a small shaggy creature, a ball of ash- colored silk, a little dog.
" Cara! " cried Darvid, " well, you are here, little one! How often have I asked you to come always boldly. How do you feel to-day? You have not coughed much, I think? Have you taken your daily walk? With whom did you go? With Miss Mary, or Irene? Come, come, sit here in this armchair."
He held her small hand in his and led her toward the table, which was surrounded with armchairs. In his move- ments there was something polished and exquisite, as it were delicacy toward a person who was very dear and not much known, pushed to the degree where it might be called gallantry. Joined with this was a feeling of delight. She was pleased and smiling, but she was blushing and embar- rassed. Advancing with short steps at his side, she bent to his hand every moment and kissed it. Her act was full of a timid charm, half capricious. They both looked hke persons who were greatly pleased at meeting, but who re- mained on a footing of ceremony with each other. He re- ceived her in his study as a queen; he seated her in an arm-
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chair, then, sitting very near, he held her hands in his. Be- tween them, on the edge of his mistress's skirt, sat the dog with the ash-colored coat, in a posture of disquiet and un- certainty; it was evident that he was not accustomed to visit that room. Cara also, with an expression of timid hap- piness on her lips which were open, cast her glance with a smile on the vases and the walls, uncertain whether she was to speak, not knowing if she might say something; she bore herself very simply; her small hands rested without motion between her father's palms. At last she said, in a very low voice :
" I was so anxious to see you, father, dear; I wished so much to speak with you that I have come."
" You have done excellently, my little one. Why not come oftener? Your coming gives me great pleasure."
While speaking he looked all the time into her face, which was almost that of a little child. She was so like her mother, that Malvina's youth was simply renewed in Cara. But Malvina, when he made her acquaintance, was consider- ably older; the hair was just the same, very bright, and the eyes with dark brows and pupils, the same shape of fore- head. With a deepening of the wrinkles between his brows he repeated:
" Why not come oftener? "
" You are always so occupied, father," whispered she.
" What of that ? " answered he hurriedly and abruptly. " There is reproach in your voice. Are my occupations a crime? But labor is service, it is the value of a man. My children should esteem my labor more than others, since I toil for them as much, or even more, than for myself."
He did not even think of speaking to that child with a voice so abrupt, and with such a cloud on his forehead; but that cloud came to him from some place within, from a
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distant feeling of something which he had never looked at directly before. But he hardly knew the girl! When he went away the last time she was a child; now she was almost full grown. But she, in the twinkle of an eye, slipped from the low armchair to the carpet, and kneeling with clasped hands began to speak passionately and quickly:
" Your child is on her knees before you, father. When you were far away she revered you, did you homage, longed for you; when you are here she loves you greatly, above everything "
Here she turned and removed from her dress the ball of ash-colored silk, which was chmbing to her shoulder.
" Go away, Puffie, go away! I have no time for thee now."
She pushed away the little dog, which sat on the carpet some steps distant. Darvid felt a stream of pleasant warmth flooding into his breast from the words of his daughter; but on principle he did not like enthusiasm. In feelings and the expression of them he esteemed moderation beyond everything. He raised with both hands the girl's head, which was bending toward his knees,
" Be not excited, be not carried away. Eepose is beauti- ful, it is indispensable; without repose no calculation can be accurate, no work complete. Your attachment makes me happy; but compose yourself, rise from your knees, sit comfortably."
She put her hands together as in prayer.
" Let me stay as I am, father, at your knee. I imagined that on your return I should be able to talk often and long with you; to ask about everything, learn everything from you."
She coughed. Darvid took her in his arms, and, with- out raising her from her knees, he drew her to his breast.
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"See! your cough lasts! Do you cough much? Well, do not speak, do not speak! let it pass. Does this cough pass quickly? "
It had passed. She stopped coughing, laughed. Her teeth ghttered like pearls between her red lips. A gleam of delight shot through Darvid's eyes.
" It has gone already! I do not cough often, only rarely. I am perfectly well. I was very sick when I got chilled at an open window while you were away, father."
" I know, I know. Your enthusiastic little head thought of opening the window on a winter night, so as to peep out and see how the garden looked covered with snow in the moonlight."
" The trees, father, the trees! " began she, smiling and with vivacity; " not the whole garden, just the trees, which, covered with snow and frost in the moonlight, were like pillars of marble, alabaster, crystal, set with diamonds, hung with laces; and whenever the slightest breeze moved, a rain of pearls was scattered on the ground."
" Great God! " exclaimed Darvid, " marbles, alabasters, laces, diamonds, pearls! But there was nothing of all this in fact! There was nothing but dry trunks, branches, snow, and hoar-frost. That is exaltation! And you see how de- structive it may be! It brought you acute inflammation of the lungs, the traces of which are not gone yet."
" They are! " answered she, in passing, and then she spoke seriously. " My father, is it exaltation to worship something which is very beautiful, or to love some one greatly with all our strength? If it is — then I am given to exaltation, but without exaltation what could we live for?"
An expression of wonder, meditation, thoughtfulness filled her eyes and covered her finely cut face with a fresh-
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ness like that of a wild rose. With a movement of wonder she opened her arms, and repeated:
"What do we live for?"
Darvid laughed.
" I see that your head is turned a little, but you are a child yet, and your trouble will pass."
Stroking her pale, golden hair, he continued:
" Homage, love, and like things of the sensational sort, are very nice, very beautiful, but should not occupy the first place."
Cara listened so eagerly that her mouth was open some- what, and she became motionless as a statue.
" But what should stand in the first place, father? "
Darvid did not answer at once. What? What should stand in the first place?
" Duty," said he.
" What duty, father? "
Again he was silent a while. What duty? Yes, what kind of duty?
" Naturally the duty of labor, hard labor."
The flush on Cara's face increased; she was all curiosity, all eagerness to hear her father's words.
" Labor, for what, father, dear? "
"How? for what?"
" For what purpose? For what purpose? because no one labors for the labor itself. For what purpose? "
For what purpose? How that child pushed him to the wall with her questions! With hesitation in his voice, he answered:
" There are various purposes "
" But you, father, for what are you working? " continued she, with eager curiosity.
He knew very well for what purpose he wished now to
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undertake the gigantic labor of erecting a multitude of buildings for the residence of an army, but could he ex- plain that to this child? Meanwhile the dark eyes of the child were fastened on his face, urging him to an answer.
" What is it ? " said he. " I — labor gives me considerable, sometimes immense profits."
" In money? " asked she.
" In money."
She made a motion with her head, signifying that she knew that this long time.
"But I," began she, "if I wanted to work, should not know what to work for, I should not know for what object I could work."
He laughed.
" You will not need to work; I will work for you, and instead of you."
"Well, father!" exclaimed she, with a resonant laugh, " what can I do? To worship, to love, is exaltation — duty is labor, but if I may not labor, what am I to do ? "
Again she opened her small hands with astonishment and inquiry; her eyes were flashing, her lips trembling,
Darvid, with marks of disagreeable feeling on his face, reached for his watch.
" I have no time," said he; "I must go to the club."
At that moment the servant announced from the ante- chamber, through the open door:
" Prince Zeno Skirgello."
Delight burst forth on Darvid's face. Cara sprang up from her knees, and looking around, called:
" Puff! Puff! Come, let us be off! doggy."
"Where is the prince?" asked Darvid, hurriedly. "Is he here, or in the carriage? "
" In the carriage," answered the servant.
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" Beg him to come in, beg him to come in! "
In the deHght which the unexpected arrival of the prince caused him at that time, he did not notice the expression of regret on Cara's face. Raising the little dog from the floor and holding him in her arms, she whispered:
" This is the third time, or the fourth — it is unknown which time it is! "
Darvid sprang toward her.
" You may remain! You know the prince "
" Oh, no, father, I flee — I am not dressed! "
Her white robe with blue dots had the shape of a wrap- per, and her hair was somewhat dishevelled. With the dog on her arm she ran to the door beyond which was dark- ness.
" Wait! " cried Darvid, and he took one of the candles which were burning on the desk in tall candlesticks. The prince was coming up the stairs slowly. " I will light you through the dark chambers."
Saying this he walked with her to the second chamber, and when passing through that, she, while going at his side with the dog on her arm, and with her short step, which gave her tall form the charm of childhood, repeated:
" This is the fourth time, perhaps — it is unknown how many times it will be in this way! "
" What will be in this way? "
" Just when I begin to talk with you. Paf ! something hinders! "
" What is to be done? " answered he, with a smile; " since your father is not a hermit, nor a small person on this world's chessboard."
They went hurriedly, and passed through the second chamber. The flame of the candle which Darvid carried cast passing flashes on the gold and polish of the walls, and
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the furniture. These were like tricky gnomes, appearing and vanishing in the silence, darkness, and emptiness. Darvid thought:
" How dark it is here, and deserted! " Cara divined this thought, as it were, and said:
" Mamma and Ira are invited to dine to-day at "
She gave the name of one of the financial potentates, and added:
" After dinner they will come to dress for the theatre." " And thou? " inquired Darvid.
" I ? I do not go into society yet, and so far the doctor forhids me to go to the theatre. I will read or talk with Miss Mary, and amuse myself with Puff."
She stroked with her palm the silky head of the little dog. Darvid halted at the door of the third chamber, and gave Cara the light, from the weight of which her slight arm bent somewhat.
" Go on alone; I must hurry to the prince." She bent down to his hands, covered them with hurried, ardent kisses. With the flame of the candle before her rosy face, with the dog at her breast, and the pale, golden hair pushed back on her shoulders, she advanced in the darkness. Darvid returned through that darkness in the opposite direction, and when he had passed the two spacious chambers hastily, he felt in the twinkle of an eye as if from behind, from that interior, some weight had been placed on his shoulders. He looked around. There was nothing but vacancy, obscurity, and silence.
" Stupid! I must have the house lighted! " thought Darvid, and he hurried into the study, where, with move- ments a little too vivacious, with a fondling smile, and with repeated declarations that he felt happy, he greeted the prince, a man of middle age, of agreeable exterior, affable
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and pleasant in speech. When they had sat down in arm- chairs, the prince declared the object of his visit, which was to invite Darvid to a hunt which was to take place soon on one of his estates. Darvid accepted the invitation with expressions of pleasure, a little too prompt and hearty. But he was never so well able to measure his words and movements in presence of those high-horn people as in presence of others. He felt this himself, still he had not the power to refrain. In presence of them he found him- self under the influence of one of his passions, and it car- ried him too far. The prince spoke of the sculptor, whose gifts he esteemed highly; the young man had gone directly from Darvid to him and told of all that he had heard, and what he had experienced.
"I was really affected by your kindness toward this youthful genius, and am dehghted that he found in you a patron so magnanimous."
Darvid thought that in every case his arrows always struck the mark. To that act of his he was surely indebted for this unusual visit of the prince, and the invitation. With a smile, in which honey was overflowing, he said:
" That young man seems very ill. A visit to more favor- able climates might save him. I must try that he does not reject the means which I shall offer him for that purpose. I foresee resistance, but I shall do what I can to overcome it, out of regard for art, and through good-will for a young man. who, besides many sympathetic traits, has this on his side, that he rejoices in the exceptional favor of Prince Zeno."
Had he been able, Darvid would have kissed himself for that phrase, he felt so well satisfied with it; especially when the prince answered with animation:
" This, in the full sense of the words, means speaking and
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acting beautifully! You use the gifts of fortune in a man- ner truly noble."
"Not fortune, prince, not fortune!" exclaimed Darvid, " but iron labor."
" Such toilers as you are the knights of the contemporary world," answered the prince, with vivacity; "the Du Guesclins and Cids of the present century."
He rose and, while pressing the hand of that Cid, fixed again in his memory the date of the hunt, which was not distant. Prince Zeno was an aristocrat of the purest blood, possessing a wide popularity which was fairly well deserved. Darvid was radiant. While accompanying the prince to the door of the antechamber he looked as if no coil of serpents had ever crawled up in his bosom, which was now beating with delight and with pride. The prince halted still a mo- ment at the door, as if to recall something.
" Pardon me an indiscreet question, but this interests me immensely. Is there truth in the reports which are circulat- ing in the city, that Baron Blauendorf is to have the honor in the near future of receiving the hand of your elder daughter? "
The expression of Darvid's face changed quickly, it be- came sharp and severe.
" Were there any truth in the report," answered he, " I should try to destroy it together with the report."
'• And you would be right, perfectly right! " exclaimed the prince. Then he bent his lips almost to Darvid's ear and whispered:
" There is no Pactolus which such a young buck as Baron Emil would not drink up. He is a genuine devourer of fortunes. He has swallowed one already and the half of another."
He laughed and added at once, with immense affability:
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" I see your son frequently — that worthy Kranitski pre- sented him a year ago to us; I and my wife are very, very thankful. He is sympathetic, handsome, and a highly in- tellectual young man, who does you honor."
He went out. Darvid stood at the round table sunk in thought, with pins of irony in his smile and his eyes, with a cloud of wrinkles between his brows. That young sculptor, the favorite of Prince Zeno, with clothing almost in tatters, brought consumption on himself unhindered, till a parvenu appeared with his money-bag and rescued the pocket of the aristocrat, receiving in return a visit and an invitation to hunt. Behold the significance of money! Al- most infinite power — ^ha! ha! ha! "
Internal laughter bore him away, and in his brain sound- ed the word: "Wretchedness! Wretchedness!"
What was it specially that he called wretchedness? He was not clearly conscious himself of this, but the feeling of it penetrated him. Again he heard the prince saying " that honest Kranitski," and a wave of blood rushed to his forehead. Everything that he had forgotten a moment earlier returned to his mind; the prince's voice roared in his ears: " That honest Kranitski." He repeated a number of times to himself, in a hissing whisper, " honest! honest! " And then he said:
" Wretchedness! "
That Baron Emil, the young buck capable of gulping down many a Pactolus! And he was to possess the hand of his daughter, with a considerable part of that fortune won by iron labor. Is Irene in love with him? But the baron is a vibrio and a monkey all in one. There is need to think over this family matter, lest a misfortune might happen. He cast a glance at the door behind which was darkness, thick,
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silent, immovable. It resembled a window opened into a great and impenetrable secret.
"I must have the house lighted up," thought he. At this moment he heard the dull rumble of a carriage in the gateway as it entered. He pressed the button of the electric bell.
" Is that the lady who has come? "
" Yes, serene lord."
" Tell the coachman to wait. He will take me to the club."
When the servant opened the door the rustle of silk came in like the sound of wind. Two long silken robes passed over the floor of the anteroom and farther on in the dark- ness of the chambers, which was dispelled by the light of the lamp, borne by the servant advancing in front of them.
The glittering gnomes called forth by that light sprang along the gildings, pohshed walls, and furniture; ran out of the darkness, ran into it again; were lighted up and quenched on the inclined heads, drooping lids, and silent lips of the two women in rich array and gloomy.
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CHAPTER II
Malvina Dabvid was one of those women to whom old age is very tardy in coming, and whose beauty, modified in each season of life, never leaves them. For this last she was indebted less to the features of her face than to the im- mense charm of her movements, her smile, her expression, her speech. She retained yet the same pale, golden hair which she had years earlier, which she arranged high above her low forehead, calling to mind the statues of Grecian women. In contrast with that hair, and her slightly faded but delicate complexion, shone, from under dark brows, large eyes, also dark, with a very mild, warm expression, now bright, now tempered by a deep inevitable cloud of pensiveness. In a robe covered with lace, in the glitter of a star of diamonds in the bright aureole of her hair, she greeted the numerous acquaintances who entered her box at the theatre, with the affability and freedom of a perfect society lady. She was even celebrated in that great city for the qualities which constitute so-called society person- ages, and which, in those who knew her past, roused a cer- tain wonder. It was known to all that that past was very modest. Darvid in his youth, which was far less brilliant than his present, married a poor orphan, a teacher. But Malvina Darvid was of those women who need only a golden setting to sparkle like diamonds. She shone in the great world with a charm, an elegance, a power of speech which were the same as if she had been its own daughter. She
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was radiant with satisfaction, with serenity, often even with joyous animation, and only now and then did a shght wrin- kle, with a barely discernible line furrowing her Grecian forehead, sink itself and cast on her face an expression of weariness, or the corners of her lips, still red and shapely, drop downward and make that oval, white, delicate face ten years older than it seemed to be usually. But those were only short and rare moments, after which Malvina Darvid was again entirely flooded with the brilliancy of her beautiful eyes, her splendid toilet, the sounds of her metallic voice, warm and full of sweetness. She seemed barely a few years older than her elder daughter. Some- times guests left her box with the words:
" She is more beautiful than her daughter."
And oftener still: " She is more charming and sym- pathetic than her daughter."
Still nature had been no stepmother to Irene Darvid; but life, though so short thus far, had stamped on her ex- terior a mark which, while it astonished and discouraged, repelled.
If the younger sister seemed a living portrait of her mother, the elder recalled her father, with her high fore- head, thin lips, and — a thing wonderful at such a tender age — the mark of irony drawn over them. Her hair, too, like her father's, changed with fiery gleams of gold and bronze, while the pale complexion of her face, which was too long, was lighted by the frequent sharp glitter of her eyes, which, as those of her father, were not large, and had gray pupils with a cold glance, penetrating and reasoning. Her shapely form was somewhat too slender; her posture and movements too stiff and ceremonious. She passed in society for a haughty, cold, unapproachable, original, and even eccentric young lady.
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On the stage was presented a play which had been pre- ceded by immense praise; in the theatre had collected all that bore the name of high and fashionable society in the city. The boxes were filled, except one, which only just before the beginning of the second act was opened with a rattle and filled with loud, free, and bold conversation. It was occupied by a number of young men of elegant dress and manners; they, as it seemed, were connected by simi- larity in position, habits, and pleasures. From the higher to the lower rows of the theatre all eyes and glasses were turned toward that box, with its princes, young nabobs, sons of ancient families, or heirs to immense fortunes. Through boxes, armchairs, galleries, passed names notorious through deeds of originality, witty sayings, astonishing ex- cesses; names interwoven with anecdotes about money and love-passages; the substance of the love-passages could be repeated only in whispers, while the amounts of money were mentioned with eyes widely opened in amazement. Two among these young men occupied public attention be- yond others that winter: Baron Emil Blauendorf, and Maryan Darvid, both of families recently, but greatly, en- riched. The Blauendorf house was older by some genera- tions, and had become widely connected; on the other hand, their fortune in possession of the present descendant was vanishing quickly; in comparison with the entirely new edifice of the Darvids, it seemed a ruin. On these two gen- eral attention was concentrated with the greatest curiosity; for during that winter and the preceding one the most numerous aneedotes touching them were in circulation among those who frequented that theatre. They were so young, and still so noted! But Baron Emil was consider- ably older than Maryan; he was thirty and little fa- vored in looks. Small, weakly, with red, closely-cut hair,
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with features which were too small, and injured by a faded complexion, with small eyes, which, because of nearsightedness, were either covered with eyeglasses, or blinked at the light from behind yellow lids, which gave them an expression of pride and weariness. An unshapely exterior, unimposing, slight, bent, sickly. But through those small, yellowish, thin hands had passed al- ready the fortune of the old baxon, who was dead some years, and now a second fortune was passing through them — a fortune left scarcely a year before to her son by the baron- ess, who was famous for her idolatrous love of him. People looked, and wondered how such a great river of gold could flow through a creature so small and insignificant. With Maryan it was difEerent. He astonished also, but he roused general sympathy. Such a child! And such a perfectly beautiful fellow at the same time! He was not twenty- three years of age yet; of fine stature; his manners were elegant and pleasing; he had the head of a cherub, with bright curling locks; a noble fresh face from which gazed eyes as blue as turquoise; and wise, too wise, perhaps, in so youthful a countenance, for these eyes seemed not to confide but to jeer, or to be wearied and seeking some- thing through the world without finding it. Women whis- pered into one another's ears that that lad, when in Eng- land, had joined the Salvation Army; but after he had re- mained a short time in its ranks, he became, in Paris, a member of the Hashish Club, and brought away the habit of using narcotics to rouse dreams in himself and unusual conditions. If the city at that moment had temporary possession of Bianca Bianetti it was thanks to that lad, who, in a remote land, had won the heart of the singer. Some insisted that he had spent fabulous sums on her; others contradicted, declaring that not Bianca, the singer, had con-
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sumed them, but Aurora, that noted Amazon of the circus, for whose favor princes of blood royal had striven in various capitals. That shapely little nabob had come, seen, and con- quered; and when he had got his prize at an incredible outlay, he threw it aside and brought home Bianca. But is that all that may be told of him? He and Baron Emil are fountains of histories of this sort. The baron is con- siderably older, but this lad has a father. That father him- self is a source of unbounded credit. Young Darvid has as many debts as there are golden curls on that cherub head of his. What will his papa say? What? Not long since that papa returned from the ends of the earth, after a long absence; will he put an end to the tricks of the boy? will he be able to do so? The white forehead of the youth has an expression of maturity, and at times of something else — namely, weariness — and in his blue eyes gleams of firmness, resolve, and contempt. He looks as if he despised the whole world then. He and the baron occupy themselves much with art and literature. They expend almost as much on art as on women and Joyous suppers. They are highly cultured. The baron plays like an artist; Maryan translates poetry into various languages. In the box were a number of others resembling these two, but the others had places elsewhere in the theatre: they had come for a brief time and left the box afterward, then there remained only the baron and young Darvid. Behind their chairs sat some third man, very quietly, as if to at- tract the least attention possible. This was Pan Arthur Kranitski. People were accustomed to see him here and elsewhere with these two young men, and with others also, but with these two most frequently; his hair curled, fresh- ened; his black mustache, pointed at the ends above his red lips, in the fashion of young men. But to-day he looks con-
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siderably more retiring and older than usual. With much bold conversation, with laughter which cast his head back, with movements full of grace and animation, he generally strove to equal, and did equal, those two young nabobs, whose Mentor he seemed to be, and at the same time their comrade and continual guest, as well as their gracious pro- tector. This time he was weighed down and gloomy, with spots on his aged forehead. He was sitting in a corner of the box, turning his attention neither to the play nor the audience; and, what was more, not striving to attract the attention of anyone. But from behind the shoulders of the young men in the front of the box, his hand, as if directed by an irresistible impulse, turned the opera-glass, from mo- ment to moment, toward Malvina Darvid. He felt that he ought not to look so persistently at that woman with the gleaming star above her forehead, so he dropped his hand to raise it again and turn it in the same direction. As if imitating Kranitski, though really he did not even think of his existence, Baron Emil was acting in the same way with reference to Irene, gazing through his opera-glass at her face, which showed indifference and even weariness. He did this with a perfect disregard for the rest of the audience, and beginning at the second act, with an inso- lence which might have confused or angered another woman. But Irene, indifferent for some time, raised her glass also, and turned it on the baron. With these glasses the two people brought their faces near each other; they looked each other straight in the eyes, separated themselves from the audience, and gazed from the height of their two boxes in full disregard of everything happening around them. These two opera-glasses, planted in permanent op- position, attract the attention of all; but Irene and the baron do not heed that, do not care to know anything what-
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ever about the audience, or the love scenes and tragedy rep- resented in that theatre. They gaze long at each other with such indifference that one might ask. Why do they do that? Perhaps because it is original, perhaps to rouse the curiosity or the censure of the audience. But, after a long time, there appeared on their faces a jeering, self- willed smile, with a tinge of friendly comradeship, mixed in the baron's case with a passing gleam of the eyes; and in Irene's a pale flush, which covered her lofty forehead for a moment and then vanished. Dropping his hand with the opera-glass the baron turned to Maryan:
" Tres gargonniere ta sceurl " said he. " She is bold and looks down on every thing; she is disenchanted. Une desdbusee! Very interesting, and grows more and more so."
" Does she rouse a new shiver in you? " laughed Maryan.
" Yes, an entirely new shiver. That is a t3rpe of woman which is barely beginning. Twenty years old, and a per- fectly distinct individuality! Twenty years old, and knows painted pots thoroughly ! "
" That is a family trait with us," retorted Maryan.
" Your mother,'* continued the baron, " has undying beauty. Such splendid hair and eyes! But hers is another type entirely."
" A past one," put in Maryan.
" Yes, that is true, a past type, a simple one. But Panna Irene is new and intricate; yes, that is the word, intricate! We are all intricate now, full of contrasts, dissonances, and vexations."
In the theatre a thunder of applause was heard. The two young men looked at each other and laughed almost loudly.
"What are they playing?" asked the baron, indicating
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the stage with his head. "Ma foil I have not heard one word."
" Well old man," said Maryan, turning to Kranitski, " what are they doing on the stage ? "
Kranitski dropped his hand with the opera-glass quickly and blurted out:
" What is the question, Maryan? "
His eyes, which were fine yet in their prolonged lids, were glazed with a tear.
" Ho, ho ! romantic, there is a tear in your eye. The subject must be affecting! Let us listen! "
They began to listen, but quite differently from others. When passions exhibited on the stage quickened the beating of all hearts, or poetry, pulsating in lofty words, brightened faces with enthusiasm, Maryan and the baron laughed inattentively and with contempt; when stupidity, selfish- ness, or wit called out laughter, or ridicule, they were immovable in cold importance, puffed up and insolent; when the curtain came down at the end, and a deafen- ing, prolonged thunder of applause was heard, their hands rested ostentatiously on the edge of the box. This opposition to the impressions and opinions of the audi- ence might seem a childish wish for distinction; but one could feel besides in it, a bold throwing down of the gauntlet to common taste, and an estimate of the various elements and values in life directly in conflict with that of others.
Toward the end of the last act Kranitski entered Malvina Darvid's box, and saluting each woman silently he stood motionless. Malvina bowed toward him slightly, then a shadow came out on her face; this shadow seemed to have torn itself from an internal cloud. She frowned — a deep wrinkle appeared on her forehead, the corners of her mouth
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drooped somewhat, and her face, with that brilliant star in the aureole of bright hair above, had an expression of pain when seen on the drapery of the box as a background.
But that did not last long. The box was filled with an assembly of brilliant and agreeable men, one of whom, with his gray hair and bearing of an official, made a low obeisance before the wife of Darvid, and seemed to lay at her feet smiles full of homage. Hence she grew affable, pleasant, vivacious, elegant in gestures, and in the modulation of her beautiful voice, she answered politeness with politeness, re- quests with promises, and gave opinions in return for ques- tions touching the piece just played.
Baron Emil meanwhile approached Irene and, indicat- ing the excited audience with his eyes, inquired:
" How do those shouting Arcadians please you ? "
Taking on her shoulders the wrap which he held for her, she answered:
" They are happy! "
"Why?"
" Because they are naive! "
" You have described the position famously! " cried he, with enthusiasm. " Only Arcadians could be so hap-
py — "
" As to believe in those painted pots ^"
" As their great-grandfathers did," added he.
"Who knows," said she, as it were, with deep thought, "whether the great-grandfathers really believed in them, or only "
" Pretended belief! Ha! ha! ha! Beyond price! ex- cellent! How you and I converse, do we not? This is harmony! "
" Not without dissonance."
" Yes, yes, not without vexation. But that is nothing.
That even rouses "
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During this interchange of opinions, which was like the glitter of cold and sharp steel, Kranitski, in the crowd which surrounded Malvina, was able to whisper to her:
" To-morrow at eleven."
Without looking at him, and with a quiver of her brows, which drooped a little, she answered:
" It is too early."
" Absolutely necessary. A catastrophe! A misfortune! " whispered he in addition.
She raised to him a glance which showed that she was tortured to her inmost soul by fear, but at the same moment Maryan gave her his arm, and said:
" To be original, to edify the Arcadians, and to give myself pleasure, I shall be to-day a virtuous son, con- ducting his own beautiful mamma downstairs ! "
Adroit, with almost childish delight in his blue eyes, but with a sarcastic smile which seemed to have grown to his lips, which were shaded by a minute mustache, this youth led through the theatre corridor that woman not young, but whose beautiful and original head, and whose rich toilet drew all eyes to her.
" I am proud of you, dear mamma. To-day I have heard whole odes sung in your honor; even Emil declares that you are eclipsing Irene with your beauty."
She was smiHng and also angry. Her dark gleaming eyes rose with love to the shapely face of her son, but, striv- ing to be dignified, she said:
"Maryan, you know that I am displeased at hearing you talk to me in such a tone."
He laughed loudly.
" Then, my dear mamma, you should grow old as quickly as possible, put on a cap, and sit in a jacket at the fireplace. I should be filled then with timid respect,
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and would hurry away with all speed from such an an- noying mamma ! "
"But since I am not annoying you will be good and come home with us. We shall drink tea together,"
" Au desespoir, chere maman ! But that cannot be. The rest of this day, or night, I have promised to friends."
" Is to-day the only time promised ? " asked she, with a shade of sadness.
"For the true sage to-morrow and yesterday have no existence," answered Maryan.
They were at the open door of the carriage; Maryan bent and kissed his mother's hand.
" Be not angry, mamma dear ! But you are never angry. If there is anything on earth that I worship yet it is your marvellous sweetness of temper."
" It is excessive," answered Malvina. " If I only knew how to dominate "
He interrupted her, with a laugh:
" I should avoid you in that case ; but now, all relations between us are excellent, though they are constitutional or even republican."
" I go for anarchy! " put in Baron Emil, helping Irene to a seat in the carriage.
He spoke somewhat through his nose and teeth, it was difficult to say whether by nature or habit, but that gave to his speech a character of contemptuousness and indolence.
" But of dissonances to-morrow n^est ce pas? " asked he.
" And of vexations! " concluded Irene with a smile, wherewith her hand remained on the baron's palm a few seconds longer than was necessary.
Soon after, Malvina Darvid was sitting at a small table covered with a tea service, in a study which was like the lined and gilded interior of a costly confectionery box.
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Massive silver artistically finished, expensive porcelain, ex- quisite tid-bits, enticing the eye by their ornamentation, and the taste by the odor from them, tempered, however, by the strong fragrance of hyacinths, syringa, and vio- lets which were blooming at the window and the walls, and on large and small tables everywhere.
The dress worn at the theatre was replaced now by a wrapper, composed of lace and material soft as down. Her posture in the low and deep armchair, the very manner even in which she arranged the folds of her robe seemed to exhale the luxury of rest; but her mind was at work, and filled her eyes with an expression of disquiet.
"'Catastrophe! Misfortune!' What could that be?" Marks of pain had begun to wind around her mouth ; her hands were firmly clasped on her knees. "It may be that lost letter? A man must have a head filled with exaltation, and a character as weak as Kranitski's to write such a letter. It may be — it is even sure to be so, for during a number of days she has felt in the air a catas- trophe. But if? — Well! Is that a misfortune? Oh, rather the opposite ? " The supposition that the dark, grievous truth of her life might be discovered by him who would seek vengeance because of it roused no fear in her; it caused her to hope for a thing disagreeable and yet desired. Let that horrid knot in which her life was involved be untied or torn apart sometime, in any way whatever. Alone she would never have strength to untie or to cut it, she is such an eternally weak, weak, weak creature ! And still anything would be better than the present condition.
Two glittering tears rolled slowly down her cheeks; above the drooping eyelids a deep wrinkle cut a dark line across her forehead. The diamond star flashing rainbow gleams
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from her hair, and the flowers, which dotted the room thickly with their pale colors, gave a background of wealth to that woman's life tragedy.
With a teacup in her hand Irene stood in the opposite door and looked at her mother uneasily, keenly, with such attention that her eyelids blinked repeatedly. Far from her now were those dry and sneering smiles in conversation with the baron. But she passed through the room calmly and sat in front of her mother.
" It seems that the play of to-night did not amuse you much, mamma."
She looked into the teacup so steadily that she could not see her mother's tears or expression of face. But that face grew bright on a sudden and was covered with an unre- strained smile.
" Is Cara sleeping? " inquired she,
" Of course ; her room is quite silent, and so is Miss Mary's. Why do you not drink tea, mamma? "
Malvina raised the spoon slowly to her lips, and Irene began to speak calmly:
"I heard very unexpected news to-day. It seems that father has told Prince Zeno, who inquired about the matter, that he will not consent to my marriage with Baron Blauen- dorf."
"Why call that news unexpected?" asked Malvina, looking at her daughter.
Irene shrugged her shoulders slowly.
" I did not suppose that father would devote his precious time to things so trivial. This is unexpected and may bring trouble."
"What trouble?" inquired Mahana, with alarm.
" Father's opinions and mine may be in opposition."
" In that case your opinion will yield."
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" I doubt that. I have my plans, my needs, my tastes; of these father can know nothing."
They were silent rather long; during this time Malvina raised her eyes to her daughter repeatedly, with the intent to say something, but she was unable, or at least she hesi- tated. At last she inquired in irresolute, almost timid, tones:
" Irene, do you love him? "
" Do I love the baron ? "
These words coming from the lips of the young girl ex- pressed immense astonishment.
" If Baron Emil should hear that question he would be the first to call it Arcadian or great-grandfatherly." And she laughed. " That is one of those things which do not exist, or which, at least, are changeable, temporary, dependent on the state of the nerves and the imagination. I have a cool imagination and calm nerves. I can do with- out painted pots."
As these words came slowly and coldly from the lips of her daughter, Malvina straightened herself, and her face was covered with a faint blush. She had preserved the rare, and at her age even wonderful, faculty of blushing.
"Ira!" cried she, "I hear these opinions not for the first time, and they give me such pain! "
She clasped her hands. ;
" Love, sympathy, when a choice is made "
The voice broke in her throat all at once. Her eyelids drooped; her shoulders fell back on the chair; she was silent.
Irene laughed and made a gesture of despair with her hands.
"What can I do with the situation?" began she in a jesting tone. " It was not I who made this world, and I cannot reconstruct it. I might like to do so, perhaps, but
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I cannot." Then she grew serious, and continued: " Love and sympathy may be very charming. I admit even that most assuredly they are when they exist; but usually if they exist it is for a short period, they flash up and quench — a few years, a few days, most frequently only days, and they pass — they are as if they had never been. Why illusions, when after them disenchantment must come? They merely cause useless exertion in life, dis- appointment, and suffering."
Irene's words and sententious, hard tones were in marvel- lous contrast with the maiden-roundness of her arms, which were bare in the broad sleeves of her dressing- gown, with the fresh red of her delicate lips, and the gleam of her blue eyes.
" Besides," added she, " I feel a sympathy for the baron; a certain kind of sympathy."
Malvina, after a moment's silence, asked in a low voice:
" What kind of sympathy is it? "
After a little hesitation Irene answered with a harsh, abrupt laugh:
"Wliat kind of sympathy? A kind very common, it seems known universally. Sometimes his way of looking at me, or his pressure of the hand, moves me. But he pleases me most by his sincerity; he makes no pretence. He has never told me, like those three or four other suitors of mine, that he loves me. He has for me, as I have for him, a certain kind of sympathy; he considers me financially an excellent match, and for these two rea- sons he wishes to share with me his title of baron, and his relationship with certain families of counts and princes. And as I, on my part, need independence at the earliest, and my own house, so one thing for another, the exchange of services and interests is accomplished. We
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do not hide from each other these motives of ours, and this creates between us sincere and comradelike relations, quite agreeable, and leading to no tirades or elegies in which there is not one bit of truth, or to any exaltation or despair which has no title to the future. This is all."
" Ira! " whispered Malvina after a long silence.
" What, mamma? "
" If I could — if I had the right — — " Both were silent.
"What, mamma?"
" If I could believe in spite of "
The gilded and artistic clock ticked among the pinks and lilies: tick-tack, tick-tack.
"What is it, mamma?"
" A cake, Ira! "
As Irene took a cake from the silver basket with her trembling hand, she cried, with glad laughter:
" At last you will eat even a cake! You have changed immensely, mamma. I cannot call you now as I once did, a little glutton, since for some time past you eat so little that it is nearly nothing."
Malvina smiled fondly at the name which on a time her daughter had given her jestingly, and Irene continued in the same tone:
" Remember, mamma, how you and I, with one small assistant in Cara, ate whole baskets of cakes, or big, big boxes of confectionery. IsTow that is past. I notice this long time that you eat almost nothing, and that you dress richly only because you must do so. At times, were it possi- ble, you would put on haircloth instead of rich silks, would you not? Have I guessed rightly? "
While a faint blush covered her forehead and cheeks again, Malvina answered:
" Rightly."
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Irene grew thoughtful; without raising her eyes to her mother she inquired in a low voice:
" What is the cause of this? "
"Eeturning currents of life are the cause," answered Malvina after a rather long silence, and she continued, thoughtfully: "You see, my child, currents of a river when once they have passed never come back again, but currents of life come back. My early youth was poor, as you know, calm, laborious, brightened by ideals, from which I have deviated much! That was long ago, but it hap- pened. In life so many years pass sometimes, that events which precede those years seem a dream, but they are real and come back to us."
Irene listened to this hesitating, low conversation with drooping eyelids and forehead resting on her hand. She made no answer. Malvina, sunk in thought, was silent also.
A few minutes later the tea things vanished from the table, removed without a sound almost, and borne out by the young waiting-maid.
With eyelids still drooping, as if she were finishing an idea circling stubbornly in her head, Irene said with pen- sive lips:
" A haircloth! " She rose then, and, suppressing a yawn, said: " I am sleepy. Good-night, mamma, dear! " She placed a brief kiss on her mother's hand: " Shall I call Rosalia?"
" No, no ! Tell her to go to sleep. I will undress my- self and go to bed unattended."
" Good-night! "
Stepping quietly along the carpet Irene passed out. Malvina followed the young lady to the door with her eyes, and the moment she was alone she threw her arm over her head, turned her face upward, and repeated a number of
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times, audibly: "0 God! 0 God!" Then she rested her elbows on the arms of the chair, covered her face with both palms, the broad sleeves of her dress fell from her arms like broken wings. Thus, altogether motionless, she dropped into an abyss of regrets, reminiscences, and fears.
The night flowed on. The clock among the flowers in that study struck the first hour after midnight, then the second hour, and each time in the darkness of the drawing- rooms another clock answered in tones which were deeper and more resonant. The syringa and hyacinths gave out a still stronger odor, though the cold increased in that chamber. The frosty winter night was creeping in, even to dwellings which were carefully heated, and was filling them with darkness penetrated with cold; along Malvina's shoulders, which were bent over the arm of the chair, shivers began to pass.
In the darkness and cold a slight rustle was heard, and on the background of this darkness, in the doorway, ap- peared Irene. She wore a short, embroidered dress of cambric, and her fiery tresses were on her shoulders. She stood in the doorway with neck extended toward her mother, then walking in soft slippers silently she passed through the room like a shadow, and vanished beyond the opposite door. There was something ghostlike in those two women; one passed, without the slightest rustle, by the other, who was sleeping in a low chair, without making the least movement. Outside that mansion the streets of the city were entering into a deeper and longer silence.
The clock in the study struck three, in the darkness three strokes, remote and deep, answered. In the air the volatile and languid odor of syringas was overcome by the narcotic and stronger odor of hyacinths. The increasing cold flowed around them with painful contrast. In the door,
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beyond which she had vanished, Irene appeared again, just as silently as before. She passed through the room and placed a shawl upon her mother's shoulders. Malvina, feel- ing the soft stuff, woke as if from a dream.
" What is this? " exclaimed she, raising her face, the cheeks of which were gleaming in the light of the lamp; but when she saw her daughter she smiled with relief immedi- ately.
" That is you, Ira? Why are you not asleep? "
" I cannot sleep, and I came for the book which we began to read together. It is growing cold, so I brought a shawl. Good-night."
She went aside but did not leave the room. She had no book in her hand; perhaps ehe was looking for it in the beautifully carved case filled with books, for she opened the case and stood before it with arms raised toward the upper shelves, her hair lying motionless on the white cambric cov- ering her shoulders.
Malvina was looking at her daughter, in her eyes was im- patience; she was waiting for her to go.
*' Is it late? " asked she.
" Very late," answered Irene, without turning her head.
" Does Cara cough to-night? "
" I have not heard her cough to-day."
Malvina rose, but tottered so much that she was forced to rest her hand on the edge of the table. She seemed greatly wearied.
" Go to sleep. Good-night! " said she, passing her daugh- ter.
Irene looked at her tottering step and followed her quickly a number of paces.
"Mamma!" cried she.
" What, Ira? "
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Irene stood before her mother a moment, her lips were quivering with words which she withheld, till she bent, kissed her mother's hand gently, and said in her usual man- ner:
" Good-night! "
Then she stood a while longer before the open case, listen- ing to the rustle made by her mother while going to bed, and when that had ceased she closed the case and moved quietly into the darkness behind the outer door.
At that same time a carriage thundered in the silence and passed through the gateway. Eestrained movement rose in the antechamber from which one servant ran out into the dimly lighted stairway, and another rushed to the study and bedroom of the master of the mansion to increase quickly the light of the lamps there. Darvid went up the stairs quickly and with sprightliness ; he threw into the hands of the servant his fur, which was costly and original, since it was brought from the distant North, and began at once to read at the round table, through an eyeglass, that which he had jotted down recently in his pocket note- book. The book was in ivory binding with a gold mono- gram, and a pencil with a gold case. While reading Darvid put a brief question to the servant:
" Has Pan Maryan returned? "
The answer was negative. Large and heavy wrinkles ap- peared between Darvid's brows, but he continued to read his notes. Almost a quarter of an hour later he wrote some- thing more while bending over the desk, and standing. Soon in the bedchamber, furnished by the most skillful decorator of the capital, a night-lamp on the mantel of a chimney illuminated a bed adorned with rich carving; a white and lean hand stretched out on a silk coverlet, and a face also, which was like ivory, and shining with two blue sleepless
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eyes, keenly glittering. Darvid east an inattentive glance through the room, over which, in the pale lamplight, two beautiful female heads seemed to hover, reflected and multiplied in mirrors standing opposite each other. This was a most beautiful work — a genuine Greuze. To win this masterpiece Darvid outbid a number of men of high standing; he triumphed and was delighted. But now his sleepless glance passed over that pearl of art inattentively. His night at the club instead of diverting and calming had bored and irritated. His honorable partner was annoying, and rude in addition. Never would he have forced him- self to play with the man, had not that relation been an honor, and — what was more — had it not been needful. Women say: one must suffer to be beautiful; men need to change only the last word and say: one must suffer to be powerful. But that was beginning to be repulsive, and, above all, to be wearisome. Only when in bed did he feel that he was weary. He could not sleep. He had slept badly for some weeks — since the time of that wretched letter. At thought of that letter the serpents stirred in Darvid's breast, but he shut them down in their den by hissing : " Stupidity ! " And he fell into long and uneasy thought about that man whom he had sent on weighty business, but who had not returned yet.
Perhaps chance will not favor him this time, and another hand will seize the field of action and the great profits. He knows that he has enemies and rivals who envy, who under- mine him. Well, he will win also in this case, only he would like something afterward — what ? He himself does not know what — perhaps rest. To go for a time to Switz- erland or Italy. For what purpose ? He is not over curi- ous about art and nature, he has no time to fall in love with them. Without occupation he would be bored in
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all places, and besides he must finish these family ques- tions. He must tame Maryan, and hinder Irene's mar- riage to the baron. He is fighting a battle with his own son and daughter. Cara is the only one with whom he has no trouble. She is mild and beautiful. Her head is turned also, but in another, a more agreeable direc- tion. She is greatly attached to him, the dear child! She is frail. He must speak to the doctor about her. Perhaps send her to Italy. With whom? With her mother? He would never permit that. The child is his. He will go himself with Cara. But in that case what will become of his enterprise?
In the interior of the mansion were heard deep, metallic sounds. The clock struck five.
In that same mansion, at the distant end of it, in a cham- ber lighted by a blue night-lamp, was heard a low, dry cough, and a frail, tall maiden, in night-clothing covered with lace, sat up in a blue and white bed.
" Miss Mary! Miss Mary! " cried she, with fear in her voice.
From the adjoining chamber came a voice of agreeable tone and somewhat drowsy:
" You are not asleep, Cara? "
"I have slept. The cough woke me, but that is well, for I had a dreadful dream. I dreamed that papa and mamma "
She stopped suddenly, and, though no one was looking at her, she hid her delicate face in the blue coverlet. So only in a whisper did she tell the end of her dream:
" They were angry at each other — so awfully angry — Ira put her arms around mamma — Maryan went away hissing. I hung to papa, and cried so, and cried."
In fact her eyes were then filled with tears from the dream.
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But she stretched in the bed, and, with her head on the pillows, thought, till she called again:
" ]Miss Mary! Are you sleeping ? "
" No, dear; do you wish anything? "
Cara began in a loud voice :
"I wish immensely, immensely. Miss Mary, to go with you to England, to your father and mother. Oh, how I should hke to be in that parsonage a while, where your sisters teach poor children and nurse the sick, and your mother makes tea at the grate for your father when he comes home after services. Oh, Mary, if you and I could go to that place! It is so pleasant there." In the blue light and in the silence her thin voice recalled the twittering of a lark.
" We will go there sometime, dear. Your parents will permit, and we will go. But sleep now."
" Very well, I will sleep. Good-night, Miss Mary — ^my dear, good Miss Mary."
She lay some minutes quietly thinking, till she sat up again in bed coughing. When the cough had passed, she called in a low voice:
" Miss Mary! Miss Mary! "
There was no answer.
" She is sleeping," whispered Cara, and after a while she looked around, and, in a lower voice, called:
"Puffie! Puffie!"
At this call the little dog sprang from a neighboring chair, and in the twinkle of an eye was on the bed.
Cara stroked the silken coat of the dog, and bending toward him whispered:
"Puffie! Puffie! dear, little dog! lie here, sleep for thyself! "
She put him on her breast almost at her chin; with her
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hand on his coat, and with the whisper: "Puffie! good Puffie! ^' she fell asleep.
Then was heard the sound of a drozhky, coming quickly, with uproar in front of the house, and again there was an end to voices and movement. Two men ascended the stairway, one much older than the other, with a carefully brushed, but somewhat worn hat, in a fashionable but some- what worn fur. He spoke in a low voice:
" Yes, yes ! c'est quelque chose d'inoui ! he commanded me to break off all relations with you, and to stop visit- ing his house."
"A thousand and one nights! Why is it? What is it for? " exclaimed the other.
Suddenly he stopped part way on the stairs, and asked with a half Jeering, half pitying look at his companion:
"If he should find out?"
Kranitski turned his face away.
" My Maryan — with you — of that "
" Painted pots! " laughed Maryan. " Do you take me for my great-grandfather? Well, has he found it out?"
With red spots on his cheeks and forehead Kranitski blinked affirmatively.
" Sapristi ! " imprecated Maryan, and immediately he laughed again. " And why? for what reason? Did he also believe in painted pots? I thought him modern."
" Alas! " sighed Kranitski.
They advanced in silence, passed the first story of the house. Maryan's bachelor chambers were on the second story.
" My dear old man, I am sorry for you, enormously sorry," began young Darvid again. " I have grown so accustomed to you. You will have to suffer, and poor mamma, too.
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Where did he get all this? A man of such sense! I thought that his head was better ventilated "
He could not finish, for Kranitski threw himself on his neck at the very door of his apartments. He wept. Drying his eyes with his perfumed cambric handkerchief, he said:
" My Maryan, I shall not survive this blow! I love 3'ou all so much — ^you are — for me — as a younger brother '*
He tried to kiss him, but Maryan broke away from his embrace, and his tears, the moisture of which he felt on his face, with discomfort.
" But it is absurd! " exclaimed he. " Are we to break our relations because they displease someone? Are we slaves? Laugh at that, my dear. Come to me as before, but pass the night now with me, for it would be difficult for you to go home at this hour.'*
He touched the button of the electric bell, and when the door opened at once, he said to his companion on the thresh- old:
" Bianca sings that aria from the * Cavalier ' gloriously, does she not? La, la, la "
He tried to give the music, but his voice failed. So he disappeared behind the closing door, humming the aria of the splendid singer which he had just heard at supper.
Below, two clocks, one after the other, sounded out six. Through the great windows light began to enter from the snow-covered streets. That seemed the gradual and slow- drawing aside of a dark curtain, from behind which came out with increasing distinctness, furniture, pictures, mir- rors, candlesticks, vases, rugs, plushes, velvets, polish, gilt, mosaics, ivory, porcelain. Until all standing forth in the full light of that winter morning began like a pearl shell to interchange various colors and lustres, and to drop from the walls and ceilings reflections of gold on the shining floor.
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CHAPTER III
Kranitski ascended a carpeted stairway, which was adorned with lamps and statues. His fur coat with a costly collar was over worn somewhat; his hat was shining; his step free, and there was a cheerful smile under his mustaches, which were turned up at the ends carefully. The stairway was almost a street. People were passing up and down on it, and whenever you met them and caught their eyes you noted freedom, self-confidence, elegance; you saw the elev- enth commandment of God, which Moses, only through some inconceivable forgetfulness, neglected to add to the Decalogue.
Entering the antechamber he threw the servant his fur, from which issued the odor of excellent perfumes. From the pocket of his coat peeped the edge of a handkerchief. He arranged before a mirror his hair, thick yet above his forehead, but showing from behind a small, circular, bald spot. Hat in hand, and with a springy, self-confident tread, he entered the drawing-room. Only two red spots above his brow interrupted the whiteness of his forehead, which was slightly wrinkled; his eyes, usually gleaming or affable, were mist-covered.
In a door, opposite that by which Kranitski entered, stood Irene, under a crimson drapery of curtains, with an open book in her hand. Kranitski, with that light-swaying of the body, with which elegants are accustomed to approach ladies, approached Irene and, bending easily before her, kissed her hand.
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"May one enter? " inquired he, indicating with his eyes the door of an adjoinin^^ chamber.
" I beg you to enter, mamma is in her study.'* The inclination of head, and sound of Irene's voice, con- tained only that measure of cordiality which was absolutely demanded by politeness, but that was her way always and with every one. Cold radiated from her, and such indif- ference that it was sometimes a contemptuous disregard for people and things. But when Kranitski, hat in hand, passed two drawing-rooms she followed him with her glance, in which, besides disquiet, there was a kindly feeling, and more, perhaps, a feeling of pity. She was accustomed from childhood to see him; he was gentle, as ready as a slave to render service, as ready as a friend to oblige; he noted the wants not only of the lady of the house, but of each of her children. He had the subdued manner and pliancy of people who do not feel that they merit what they have, and are ever trembling lest they lose it. He had, be- sides, the gift of reading beautifully in various languages. For a number of years Irene could not remember pleas- anter evenings than those which, free from society de- mands, she had passed in her mother's study when Kran- itski was present. Sometimes Cara and her governess took part in these domestic gatherings; sometimes, also, though more and more rarely, they were enlivened by the presence of Maryan, who, in the intervals of reading, chaffed with his sister and mother, and argued with Kran- itski about various tendencies in taste and literature. Most frequently, however, Cara was occupied with lessons, and Maryan by society, and only she and Malvina, with artistic work in hand, listened in silence and thoughtfully to that resonant, manly voice, which rendered master- pieces of thought and poetry with perfect appreciation
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and feeling. During such evenings Irene was seized at moments by a dream of certain grand solitudes, pure, surrounded by cordial warmth, remote from the uproar of streets, the rustle of silks, the noise of vain words, whose emptiness and falsehood she had measured; but straightway she said to herself : " Painted pots, ideals ! these have no existence ! " and she made a gesture, as if driving from above her head a beautiful butterfly, feel- ing convinced that that butterfly was merely a phantom. To-day, from minute observation, the conjecture rose in her that something uncommon had happened, and that something more must happen, also; she was colder and more formal than ever, with a burning spark of fear in the depth of her blue, clear eyes. Her dress was of cloth, closely fitting, somewhat masculine in the cut of the waist, and on the top of her head was a Japanese knot of fiery hair, pierced by a pin with steel lustres. In her hand was an open book, and she walked along slowly through the two spacious drawing-rooms. She did not raise her eyes from the book, though she did not turn a page in it. At one door she turned immediately, at the other, which was closed, she stopped for a few seconds when she caught the sound of conversation, carried on beyond the door, in low voices, by two people. She did not wish to hear that conversation. Oh, she did not! How long ago was it since she had striven to be deaf as well as blind, and frequently so deaf that no glance of the eye, no movement of the face might betray that che had sight or hearing. But now, as often as a louder sound struck her ears from beyond the closed door she stood immovable, and her eyelids quivered like leaves stirred by wind. For a long time it had seemed to her that something terrible might happen in that house some day, something to which she would not be able to
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remain deaf and blind. Might it not happen just that day ? With slow, even step along the gleaming floor, be- tween purple, azure, and various shades of white, which filled the drawing-rooms, she walked, in her closely-fitting dress, from one door to the other, her eyes fixed on the book, her manner colder, more formal than ever, her deli- cate motionless face, above which the long pin threw out metallic gleams. Suddenly an outburst of silver laughter was heard at another door. Till that moment two female voices had been heard, speaking English, beyond this door, now thrown open with a rattle. Golden strips of light, cast in by the winter sun, were lying on the purple and white of the drawing-room. Into this drawing-room rushed a strange pair; a maiden of fifteen, in a bright dress, golden-haired, rosy, and tall, bent low; she held by the forepaws a little ash-colored dog, and with him went waltzing around the furniture of the room, humming as she moved the fashionable: La, la, la! La, la, la! A pair of small feet, in elegant slippers, and a pair of shaggy, beast paws, whirled over the gleaming inlaid floor, around long chairs, tables, columns holding vases; swiftly, swiftly did she go till she met Irene at the door of the next drawing- room. Cara raised the little dog from the floor, straightened herself, her eyes met the strange glance of her sister. Irene blinked repeatedly, as if some disagreeable light had struck her eyes.
" Always so gladsome, Cara! ".
" I? " cried the girl. " Oh, so! Puffie made me laugh — and — the sun shines so nicely. The day is beautiful, isn't it, Ira? Have you noticed how diamond sparks glitter on the snow ? The trees are all covered with frost. Let us go with Miss Mary for a walk. I will take Puffie, but I will cover him with that blanket which I finished em- broidering yesterday. Is mamma well ? "
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" Why do you ask about mamma? "
"Because, when I gave her 'good-morning/ I thought that she was ill, she was so pale — pale. I asked her, but she said: ' Oh, it is nothing, I am well/ Still it seems to me "
"Let nothing seem to you!" Irene interrupted her al- most angrily. " The surmises of children like you have no sense in them most of the time. Where are you going? "
" To father."
She pointed with her eyes to her mother's rooms.
" Is that — that man there? "
It was not to be discovered why she spoke in lowered tones, but Irene's voice sounded almost harsh when she in- quired:
"Whatman?"
" Pan Kranitski."
Now Cara's red, small lips, in the twinkle of an eye, formed a crooked line in spite of her; then, bending toward her sister, she said, almost in a whisper:
" Tell me, Ira, but tell the truth. Do you like that man —Kranitski?"
Irene laughed aloud, freely, almost as she had never laughed.
" Ridiculous! Ah, what an amusing baby you are! Why should I not like him? He is our old and good acquaint- ance." And returning to her usual formality, she added : " Besides, you know that I do not like anyone very much."
" Not me? " asked Cara, fondly touching with her red lips the pale cheeks of her sister.
" You ? A little ! But go away. You hinder my read- ing."
" I will go. Come Puffie — come! " And with the dog on her arm she went off, but she stopped at the door, and
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turning to Irene, she bent forward a little, and said, in a low voice: " But I do not like him — I do not know why this is. First I liked him, but for some time I cannot en- dure him — I do not know myself why."
At the last words she turned away, capriciously, and went on.
" She does not know! does not know! " whispered Irene over her book. " That is why she dances with the dog. What happiness in Arcadian life ! "
The little one, going on, began to hum again, but near the door of her father's study she grew silent and stopped. The sound of a number of men's voices in conversation reached her. She dropped her hand, and whispered:
"Father has visitors! What shall we do now, Puffie? How* shall we go in there ? "
After a moment's thought and hesitation she stepped in very quietly under the drapery of the portiere, and in the twinkle of an eye was sitting on a small, low stool which stood behind a tall case of shelves filled with books, which, placed near the door, formed with two walls a narrow, triangular space. That was an excellent comer, a real asylum which she could reach unobserved, and which she had selected for herself earlier. The books on the shelves hid her perfectly, but left small cracks through which she could see everyone. Whenever there were guests with her father she entered directly from the door, with one silent little step she pushed in, waited longer than the guests, and when they were gone she could talk with her father.
At the round table, which was covered with books, maps, and pamphlets, in broad armchairs were sitting, hat in hand, men of various statures and ages. They had not come on business, but to make calls of longer or shorter dura- tion. Some were giving place to others, who came un-
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ceasingly, or rather flowed in as wave follows wave. Some went^ others came. The pressing of hands, bows more or less profound, polite and choice phrases, conversation, in- terrupted and begun again, conversation touching im- portant and serious questions of European politics, local questions of the higher order, and problems of society, especially financial and economic.
Darvid's voice, low but metallic, filled the study, it was heard by all with an attention almost religious; in general, Darvid seemed to rule over that ever-changing throng of men, by his word, by his gestures, by his eyes, with their cold and penetrating gleam, from behind the glasses of his binocle. He was radiant with a certain kind of power, which made him what he was, and the world yielded to the charm of this power, for it created wealth, that object of most uni- versal and passionate desire. He himself felt all its might at that moment. When at the door of the study were heard, announced by the servant, names famous because they were ancient, others known for high office, or for the reputa- tion which science and mental gifts confer, he experienced a feeling like that which a cat must feel when stroked along the back. He felt the hand of fate stroking him, and the delight caused by this became very pleasing. He was elo- quent, he was gleaming with self-confidence, judgment, and ease of utterance. Not the least pride was to be observed in him, only the gleam of glory issuing from his smooth forehead, and the mysterious sensation of apotheosis, which pushed an invisible pedestal under the man, and made him seem loftier than he was in reality.
At a certain moment a number of men entered, they seemed almost sunk in humility, and at the same time filled with solemnity. That was a delegation from a well-known philanthropic society in the city; they had come to Darvid
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with a request to take part in their work by a money con- tribution and by personal assistance. He began by the gift of a considerable sum, but refused personal assistance. He had not the time, he said, but even had he time, he was opposed in principle to all philanthropic activity. " Philanthropy gives a beautiful witness touching those who engage in it, but it cannot prevent the misfortunes which torture the race ; nay, it strengthens them needlessly, and offers premiums to sloth and incompetence. Only exertion of all forces in untiring and iron labor can save mankind from the cancer of poverty which tortures it. "Were there no help behind any man's shoulders, no hands would drop down unoccupied; each man would exercise his own strength, and misery would vanish from this earth of ours."
Among those present, a guarded and immensely polite opposition rose, however.
" The weak, the cripples, lonely old men and children? "
" Philanthropy," answered Darvid, " cannot stop the ex- istence of these social castaways, it merely continues and establishes them."
"But they have hungry stomachs, sad souls and hearts — like our own."
"What is to be done," inquired Darvid, with outspread palms which indicated regret. " There must be victors and vanquished in the world, and the sooner the latter are swept from existence the better for them and for mankind."
A look of displeasure was evident on the faces of some, but they were silent, the oldest man rose, and smiling most agreeably, ended the argument:
" But if philanthropy had many patrons like you its ac- tivity would correct the injustice of fate very frequently."
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" Let us not call fate unjust," retorted Darvid with a smile, " because it favors strength and crushes incompetence. On the contrary its action is beneficent, for it strengthens all that is worthy of life, and destroys that which is useless."
" It has been Just to you, and in this case we all owe it gratitude," concluded the oldest man in the delegation, end- ing the dispute hurriedly. Holding, meanwhile, Darvid's hand in his two palms he shook it with a cordial pressure, and his gray head, and face, furrowed with wrinkles, were bent in a profound obeisance. For those whom his honest heart pitied he carried a gift so considerable that, in spite of words which were not to his mind, the homage and grati- tude which he gave came from perfect sincerity.
At last Darvid's study was deserted, and on his lips Avas fixed a smile which resembled a pricking pin. Why had he poured out such a great handful of money for an object which to him was indifferent, the need of which he did not recognize? Why? Habit, relations, public opinion, ex- pressed orally, and by the printed word. A comedy! Misery! He frowned, the wrinkles between his brows were growing, when he heard a slight rustle behind. He looked around, and exclaimed:
"Cara! How did you come in? Ah! you were sitting in the corner behind the books! Only a reed such as you are could squeeze in through that cranny ! What is your wish, my little daughter ? "
He smiled at his daughter, though his glance turned to the clock standing in the corner of the room. But Cara, with seriousness on her rosy face, stretched out to him the little dog, which had just wakened and was still sleepy.
" First of all, I beg father to stroke Puffie — Puffie is pretty, and he is good, stroke him just once, father."
Darvid drew his palm a number of times, absent-mindedly, over the back of the dog.
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*' I have stroked him. But now if you have nothing else to say "
" I have no time! " added she, finishing her father's sen- tence. She laughed, and dropping Puff on the armchair, she caught her father in both her arms:
"I will not let you go! " cried she; "father must give me a quarter of an hour, ten minutes, eight minutes, five minutes, I will speak quickly, quickly. ' If I have nothing more to say.' I have piles of things to say! I was sitting in the corner looking and listening, and I don't understand, father, why so many men come to you. When one looks at it all from a corner, it is so funny! They come in and bow "
Here she ran to the door and began with motions and gestures to enact that of which she was talking. Puff sprang after his mistress, and, stopping in the middle of the room, did not take his eyes from her.
" They come in, they bow, they press your hand, father, they sit down, they listen."
She sat on the chair in the posture of a man, and gave her delicate features an expression of profound attention. •Puif fixed his eyes on her and began to bark.
" Or in this way." She changed her expression from attention to gaping. Next she sprang up from the chair. Puff sprang up, too, and caught the end of her skirt in his little teeth. " They rise, they bow again, they all say the same things: I have the honor! I shall have the honor! I wish to have the honor! "
She bowed man-fashion, knocking her heels together, and then pushing apart her little, slippered feej:, and Puff tugged at the edge of her dress, sprang away, barked repeatedly, and seized her dress in his teeth again.
"Puffie, don't hinder me! Puffie, go away! Some go
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out, others come. Again: 'I have the honor! I wish to have the honor! ' Puffie, go away! They press your hand, father. Oh, I have tired myself! "
Her breath had become hurried from quick motions and rapid speaking, a bright flush covered her face, she coughed and coughed again, she seized her father's arms.
" Do not run away, father! I have much to tell you. I will talk quickly."
Darvid had been standing in the middle of the room, and following her quick movements with his eyes, at first with an indulgent, and then with a more gladsome smile. That child was beaming with exuberant life, with wit also, which had the power to penetrate things and people; a most delicate sensitiveness, which made her an instrument of many strings, and these never ceased quivering. She re- minded him marvellously of Malvina in her youth. When she began to cough he caught her, and said:
" Do not hurry so; do not speak so much; talk less; sit down here."
" I have no time, father, to talk slowly — 1 cannot sit down — for you will run away that moment. I must hold you and hurry. I want you to tell me why so many men come to you, and why you go to their houses. Do you love them? Do they love you? Is it agreeable and pleasant for you in their company? What do they want? What comes of these visits, pleasantness or profit? And whose profit, theirs or yours? or the profit of someone else, perhaps? What is all this for? Do not these visits remind you of the theatre? Though I have never been in the theatre. Here, as in the theatre, every man plays some part, pretends, puts on a face, does he not? Why does he do so? Do you like this, father ? I beg you to tell, but only tell me everything, everything; for father, I want you to be my
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master, my light — ^you are so wise, so respected, so great ! ''
Enthusiasm put sparks into her dark eyeballs which were turned up to her father's face. Darvid stroked her pale, golden hair.
"My dear child," said he, "my little one!" After a while he added : " Are you a wild girl from Australia or Africa to ask me such questions? You have seen visits from childhood. Have you not seen your mother receiv- ing many visitors, also ? "
" Yes, yes, father; but mamma amuses herself with them, and is taking Ira into society. But what are visits to you? Are you amusing yourself, also ? "
" How amuse ? " laughed Darvid, " they annoy me of- tenest of all, though an odd time they give me pleasure."
" What pleasure? "
" You do not understand this yet. Eelations, position in the world, significance."
" What do you want of significance, father; why do you wish for a high position in society? What profit does sig- nificance give? Does it give happiness? See, father, I know one little history — Miss Mary's father, an English clergy- man, has a parish in a poor, far-away corner, where there are no people of significance, and no rich men, but there are many poor and ignorant people there ; and he has sig- nificance only among those poor people — that is, he has no significance whatever, still he is so happy, and all those people are so happy. They love one another, and live to- gether. It is so warm and bright in that pastor's house, there, among the old trees. Miss Mary came away from there to get a little money for her youngest sister, whom she loves dearly. She lives pleasantly here, but she yearns for her family, and has told me so much of them; and
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some time, father, I will beg you to let me go with Miss Mary to England, to that poor country parish, and see that great, warm, bright happiness which exists in it."
Tears glittered like diamonds in her gleaming eyes, and Darvid, with his arm around her slender waist, stood silent, in deep meditation. That child, by her questions, had let his thoughts down, as if by a string, to the bottom of things, at which he had never looked before — he had had no time. He might tell her that high signifi- cance in the world tickles vanity, flatters pride, helps, fre- quently, to carry business to a profitable conclusion — that is to pecuniary profit. He might confess to himself, also, that that English clergyman, in his quiet parsonage, under his ancient trees, seemed to him a very happy man all at once in that moment. After a while, he said:
"It must be so. Happiness and unhappiness are one thing for poor people, and another for the rich."
He looked at the clock.
" But now "
" Now, I have no time! " laughed Cara. " No, no, father, two minutes more, a minute more — I will ask about some- thing else."
" You will ask more! " exclaimed he, with such a laugh as he had hardly ever given.
" Yes, yes — something even more important than the last. I am troubled about it — it pains me so "
She changed from foot to foot, and embraced her father with all her strength, as if fearing that he might run away.
" Did father mean really to say that one should not uphold the poor, the hungry, the sorrowful, the sad, nor comfort them; that it is only necessary to leave them so that they may die as soon as possible? When father said that I felt sick in some way. Mamma and Ira this long time sup-
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port two old men, so gray and nice, whom Miss Mary and I visit often. Do mamma and Ira do badly? Should we let them die as soon as possible from hunger? Brrr! it is terrible! Does father think so really, or did he only say what he did to get rid of those gentlemen the more quickly? Father you are good, the best, a dear, golden father. Do you really believe what you said, or was it to get rid of those men ? I beg you to answer me, I beg you ! "
This time her eyes were fixed on his face, with a gleam which was almost feverish, and again he stood in silence, filled with astonishment. Why could his mouth not open to tell that girl his profoundest conviction?
With all the wrinkles between his brows, he said, with- out a smile:
" I said that to get rid of them; I wished to be rid of those gentlemen as quickly as possible."
The soles of Cara's feet struck the floor time after time with delight.
" Yes, yes! I was sure of that! My best, dearest father "
Stroking her hair, he added:
" We must be kind. Be kind always. Keep the life in gray-haired, nice old men. You will never lack money for that."
She kissed his hands; suddenly her glance fell on her father's desk, and she cried:
"PujBSe! Puffie! where have you climbed to? There you are, you have crawled on to the desk and done so much mischief ! "
The ash-colored little dog was on the great desk of the celebrated financier, on the top of a huge pile of papers; he was sitting with his nose against a window pane, growling at crows that were flying past and cawing. In that study,
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which was so dignified as to be almost solemn, Cara's laugh- ter was heard in silver tones:
" Look, father, how angry he is! He is angry at the crows! Oh, how he sticks his little nose up when one of them flies past. Do you see, father? "
"I see, I see! Never has such a dignified assistant been in charge of my desk. Oh, you little one ! "
He put his arm around her and pressed her to his bosom, briefly, but heartily. Through his head passed at that mo- ment the recollection of something unimportant which he had seen on a time: a golden sunray, which, flashing from behind clouds, had torn them apart, and disclosed a strip of clear azure beyond. He saw this through a window of a railroad car, mechanically, as we see things to which we are indifferent. Now he remembered it.
" The carriage is ready! " called the servant from the anteroom.
"You are a little giddy-head," said Darvid, looking at the clock. " I should have left the house a quarter of an hour ago."
She ran to bring his hat, and gave it with a low bow. Stooping quickly she raised a glove which he had dropped.
" Don't forget to leave Puffie here to keep my papers in order! "
With this jest on his lips he went to the antechamber, but, while putting on his fur and descending the stairway, he thought of the auction, where he was to buy a house sold for debt — an excellent investment.
"Is Pan Maryan at home?" asked Darvid of the Swiss at the street door.
The Swiss learned from servants that the young master was sleeping yet.
"What a miserable method of life! I must put a curb
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on this wild buck immediately. Well, lack of time, a chronic lack of time! "
" Quickly! as quickly as possible! " called he to the driver, while entering the carriage.
He had left the house too late, his daughter had broken in on him with her twittering and fondling — but she is a ray of eunlight!
Cara removed Puff from her father's papers, and, putting him on her breast, almost under her chin, as usual, passed through the drawing-rooms hurriedly. She was late for her lessons with Miss Mary. In one of the drawing-rooms she passed Irene. The slow promenade of the tall and formal young lady, with an open book in her hand, continued yet. Cara, while passing, and without stopping, said, with evident gladsomeness:
" But I talked long with father to-day, long."
" You have done that trick! " answered Irene, indiffer- ently.
Cara stopped as if fixed to the floor. In the careless voice of her sister she heard irony; she seemed ready for conflict; her brows contracted suddenly; her eyes were full of sparks. But Irene, absorbed in reading, was already a good number of steps away. After a few seconds, Cara vanished behind the door of her own room and Miss Mary's.
Irene's features, rather meagre and elongated, continued motionless; her paleness increased their formality. But as time passed, weariness settled the more deeply on her droop- ing eyelids. Whenever she passed a window of the draw- ing-rooms, the pin in her hair cast quick, sharp gleams in the sunlight.
At last the door of Malvina's room opened and out came Kranitski, quite different from what he had been at his ar- rival. His shoulders were bent; his head drooping; on his
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cheeks were red spots; his forehead was greatly wrinkled. He looked as though he had been weeping a moment before. Even his mustaches were hanging in woefulness over his carefully shaven chin. Irene stopped, and with the book in her two hands, which she had dropped, gazed at the man approaching her. He hastened his step, took her hand, and said in a low voice and hurriedly:
" I am the most wretched of beings! I was not worthy of such great happiness as — as — your mother's friendship, so I lose it. Je suis fini, completement et cruellement fini. I take farewell of you, Panna Irene — so many years! so many years ! I loved you all so greatly, so heartily. Some people call me a romantic old dreamer. I am. I suffer. Je souffre horrihlement. I wish you every happiness. Perhaps, we may never meet again. Perhaps, I shall go to the country. I take farewell of you. So many, so many years! 0 Dieul "
His eyelids were red; he was bent more than ever as he passed out. On Irene's face great alarm appeared.
" It is true, then. It is true! " whispered she. Springing forward like a bird she passed through the drawing-room, quickly and silently. Invisible wings bore her toward the closed door of her mother's room; when entering, her man- ner was calm and distinguished, as usual, but her eyes, in which there was anxious concern, beheld the form of a woman lying in a deep armchair, her face covered with her hands. Malvina was weeping in silence; her sobs gave out no sound, they merely shook her shoulders at regular in- tervals. These shoulders were drooping forward, and it seemed as though an unseen weight were crushing them to the earth and would crush them down through it.
Irene hurried, silently; brought a vial from the adjoining bedchamber, poured some liquid on her palm, and touched her mother's forehead and temples with it, delicately. Mal-
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vina raised her face, which was deeply agitated by an ex- pression of dread. At that instant one might have thought the woman feared her daughter. But Irene, in her usual calm voice, said:
" Insomnia always harms you, m£,mma. Again you have that horri'"- neuralgia! "
"Yes, I feel a little ill," answered Malvina in a weak voice.
She rose, and tried to smile at Irene, hut her pale lips merely quivered, and her eyelids drooped; they were swollen from weeping. With a step which she strove to make firm and steady she went toward her bedroom.
Irene followed some steps behind.
"Mamma?"
"What, my child?"
Irene's lips opened and closed repeatedly; it seemed as though some cry would come from them, but she only said in low tones:
" A little wine or bouillon might be brought? "
Malvina shook her head, advanced some steps, looked around:
" Ira! "
The daughter stood before her mother, but now Malvina in her turn was speechless. She inclined her forehead, which covered slowly with a blush; at last she inquired in a low voice:
" Is your father at home? "
" I heard him drive away some moments ago."
" On his return, should he wish to see me, say that I am waiting for him."
" Very well, mamma."
In the door she turned again:
" Should someone else come — I cannot "
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Irene halted a number of steps from her mother in the formal posture of a society young lady, and said:
" Be at rest, mamma; I shall not go a step away, and I shall not let anyone interrupt you. Not even father if you wish — perhaps to-morrow would be better? "
" Oh, no, no! " cried Malvina, with sudden animation. " On the contrary, as soon as possible — beg your father to come, and let me know at the earliest."
" Very well, mamma."
Malvina closed the bedroom door, advanced a few steps, and fell on her knees at her richly covered bed. Amid fur- niture, finished in yellow damask, on a downy bed, cov- ered with cambric and lace, she raised her clasped hands, and said, in whispers broken with sobs:
" 0 God! 0 God! 0 God! "
She was of those weak beings who to live need heart- felt love as much as air, and who are infected by this love without power of resisting it. To such a love had she yielded once in the chill and emptiness of rich drawing- rooms. That was a happening of long ago; she was the weaker at that time because she was caught by a breeze from the spring of her life, passed in the company of that man who was casting himself at her feet then. In that moment of yielding a pebble had dropped on her, the weight of which increased with the course of years and the growth of her children. She had not thought for an instant that she was the heroine of a drama. On the con- trary, she repeated, with a face always blushing from shame: " Weak! weak! weak! " and, from a time rather remote, it was joined with another word, " Guilty." She was weak, still to-day she had found strength at last to cut one of those knots in which her life had been involved so repulsively. Oh, that the other might be torn apart quickly; then she
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could go far from the world into lone obscurity, an abyss occupied only by her endless penitence. In her head a plan had matured. She wished to speak with Darvid as soon as possible, and she doubted not that in the near future he would agree with her. Her daughters ? Well, was it not better that such a mother should leave them, vanish from their eyes?
Irene pushed to the window a small table, on which were painting materials; she took her place at the table, and with fixed attention in her eyes began to outline a cluster of beau- tiful flowers. They were chrysanthemums, and seemed to be opening their snowy and fiery petals to mystic kisses. Deep silence reigned in the mansion, and only after a cer- tain time had passed did the sound of glasses and porcelain come from a remote apartment, and at the door of the study a servant appeared, announcing that lunch was served. Irene raised her head from her work:
" Tell Panna Caroline and Miss Mary that mamma and I will not come to the table."
She added a command to bring two cups of bouillon and some rusks. A while later she stood with a cup in her hand at her mother's door.
"May I come in?"
She held her ear to the door; there was no answer. Her lids blinked anxiously; she repeated the question, adding:
" Mamma, I beg "
" Come in, Ira! "
Covered with silken materials Malvina was like a glitter- ing wave on the bed. Irene entered with the bouillon and the rusks, then slipped through the room quietly and let down the shades. A mild half -gloom filled the chamber.
" This is better. Light when one has the headache is hurtful." She went to the bed. "You cannot sleep in
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these tight boots, try as you like, and without some hours of sleep the neuralgia will not leave you."
Before these words were finished, her slender hands had changed the tight boots for roomy and soft ones. She bent down, and with a touch of her fingers unfastened a number of hooks at her mother's breast.
" Now, it will be well! " Irene dropped her arms on her dress and smiled a little. Despite her fashionable robe and fantastic hairdressing there was in her at that moment some- thing of the sister of charity, she seemed painstaking and cautious.
" And now, mamma, be a little glutton," added she with a smile; " you will drink the bouillon and eat the rusk; I will go to paint my chrysanthemums."
She was at the door when she heard the call:
"Ira!"
" What, mamma? "
Two arms stretched toward her, and surrounded her neck; and lips, so feverish that they burnt, covered her forehead and face with kisses. Irene in return pressed her lips to her mother's forehead and hand, but for a few seconds only, then she withdrew from the embrace with a gentle move- ment, moved away somewhat, and said:
" Be not excited, for that may increase the neuralgia."
At the door she turned again:
" Should anything be needed, just whisper; you know what delicate hearing I have; I shall hear. I shall be paint- ing in your study. Those chrysanthemums are beautiful, and I have a new idea about them which interests me greatly."
In the tempered winter light from the window, in that study full of gilding, artistic trifles, syringas, and hya- cinths, Irene sat at the table with painting utensils, sunk
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in thought and idle. From beneath her brows, which had each the outhne of a delicate little flame, her fixed eyes turned toward the past. She had in mind a time when she was ten years old, and was fitting a new dress on her doll with immense interest. At first she did not turn attention to her parents' conversation in the next chamber, but after- ward, when the dress was fitted to the doll as if melted around it, she raised her head, and through the open door began to look and listen. Her father, with a jesting smile, was sitting in an armchair; her mother, in a white gown, was standing before him, with such an expression in her eyes as if she were praying for salvation.
" Aloysius! " said she, " have we not enough? Is there nothing in the world except property and profits — this golden idol? "
" I beg you to consider that there is something else," in- terrupted he, with a sHght hiss of irony; " this luxury which surrounds you and becomes you so well."
Then she seated herself opposite him, and, bending for- ward, spoke somewhat quickly, disconnectedly:
" Do we live with each other? We do not by any means. We only see each other. There is nothing in common be- tween us. You are swallowed up by business, I by society. I have taken a fancy, it is true, for amusement, but in the depth of my heart I am often very gloomy. I feel lonely. My early hfe, as you know, was modest, poor, toilsome, and often it calls to me reproachfully. You do not know of this, for we have no time to exchange ideas. I am of those women who need to feel guardianship, to have near them an ear which might listen to their hearts, and a mind which would direct their conscience. I am weak. I am full of dread. I fear that in view of your frequent, almost con- tinual absence, I shall not be able to rear the children prop-
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erly. I only know how to love them, I would give my life for them, but I am weak, I beg you not to leave me and them so frequently; that is, almost continuously — ^rather let this luxury decrease — I shall be glad, even, for the de- crease will bring us nearer together. I beg you! "
She seized his hands, and it seemed as though she kissed them; but it was certain that the pale, golden wave of her dishevelled hair fell on them. Irene, though she was only ten years old then, felt pity for her mother, and waited with intense curiosity for her father's answer.
" What do you wish in particular? " asked he. " I listen, I listen, still I do not know exactly what the question is. Is it this, that I should stop work, which I love and which succeeds with me? You must be in a waking dream. Those are ideas from another society, mere childish fancies."
Here Irene's thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Cara.
"Ira, is mamma sick, since she did not come to luncheon? "
" Mamma has neuralgia often; you know that well."
Cara turned to the door of her mother's bedroom, but Irene stopped her.
" Do not go; she may be sleeping."
The girl approached her sister:
" It seems to me " she whispered and stopped.
" What seems to you a second time ? "
" That there is something going on in this house "
Irene frowned.
" What an imagination you have! You are ever imagin- ing something uncommon. Now all these uncommon things are painted pots, or illusions. Life rolls on always in a com- mon, prosaic movement. Stop making painted pots, and go out to walk with Puff and Miss Mary."
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Cara listened attentively, but with an incredulous ex- pression of eyes, which were fixed on her sister's face.
" Very well, I will go to walk, but what you have said is not true, Ira. It is not painted pots that mamma is suf- fering and sick, that father goes out to dine for a whole week, and does not come to her at all; even that — ^man, going out to-day, began to cry in the antechamber — I saw him by chance — he wanted to say something to me, but I ran away "
Irene shrugged her shoulders.
" You will be a poetess, perhaps, you exaggerate every- thing so terribly. Mamma is not troubled, she only has neuralgia. Father does not dine with us because he has so many invitations, and Pan Kranitski struck his nose against something which you, in poetic imagination, took for cry- ing. Men never cry, and sensible girls, instead of filling their heads with painted pots, go to walk while good weather lasts and the sun shines. The doctor tells you to walk every day, not in the evening, but abou"^ this hour."
" I am going, I am going! You drive me away! "
She went on a number of steps, and turned again toward her aster:
" Father is angry at Maryan — I see that very clearly. Everything in this house is, somehow, so strange."
She went out, but Irene clasped her hands, and for some seconds squeezed them with all her might, and thought:
" That child will soon look at life just as I have been looking at it for some time past. It is necessary to foresee, absolutely necessary! " She returned to her reminiscences. Her mother said to her father:
" Our fortune is now considerable."
" In that direction," answered her father, " it never can be too great, nor even sufficient."
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Then, playing with her beautiful hair, he asked:
" But do you believe that I love you? "
After some hesitation she answered:
" Fo. I have lost that faith, I lost it some time ago."
Later there were many other words, some of which Irene remembered:
" The very best guardianship in this world," said her father, " is wealth. Whoso has that will never lack mind, even ; since, in case of need, he can buy mind from other men.
" In the training of our children you will expend all that is requisite. You will rear for me our daughters to be grand ladies; will you not? Educate them so that when mature they may feel as much at home in the highest social circles as in their own father's household. As to you, amuse your- self, make connections, dress, be brilliant. The more you elevate the name which you bear, by beauty, wit, knowl- edge of life, the more service will you render me in re- turn for the services which I render you. Besides, if you have any difficulty with the house, with teachers, with social relations, you have that honest Kranitski, who will serve you with great good will. I am very much pleased with that acquaintance. Just such a man did I need. He has extensive and very good connections; he is perfectly well-bred, obliging, polite. Foreseeing that he might be very useful to us, I became familiar with him. It is true that he has borrowed money a number of times of me, but he has rendered a number of services. Pay in return for value, that is the best method."
He walked up and down through the room repeatedly; on his forehead, in liis look, in his movements, he had an expression of perfect confidence in himself, his rights, and his reason. Suddenly, turning toward the door of remoter rooms, he cried with delight:
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" Speak of the wolf, and he is before you ! I greet you, dear sir."
With these words he extended his hand to the guest who was entering. This was Kranitski, at that time in his high- est manly beauty; petted, and a favorite in the best social circles because of it, and for other reasons also.
He gave a hearty greeting of Darvid, who met him with delight, and then he stood before Malvina in such a posture, and with such an expression on his face, as if he desired only one thing on earth, to be able to drop on his knees before her.
That conversation and scene remained fixed in Irene's memory. She drew from it formerly, extensive conclusions, then she ceased altogether to recall it; now she thought again of it, forgetting her painted chrysanthemums, which, on the blue satin, seemed to gaze at her, having as subtle and enigmatical a look as she herself had.
A servant at the door announced: " Baron Emil Blauen- dorf ! "
" Not at ho — " began she at once; but, halting, instructed the servant to ask him to wait. At her mother's desk she wrote on a narrow card of Bristol-board, in English:
" Mamma is ill with neuralgia; I am nursing her, and cannot see you to-day. I regret this, for the talk about dis- sonances began to be interesting. Bring me the continua- tion of it to-morrow! "
She gave this card, in an envelope addressed to the baron, to a servant, and sat down again to her chrysanthemums, this time with a smile both malicious and gladsome. With his appearance in that house, though unseen by her. Baron Emil had lent form in her head to a certain whimsical idea. She knew that it was whimsical, but just for that reason it pleased her, and must also please the baron. She began quickly, almost with enthusiasm, to paint dark outlines of
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imps among the flowers. She disposed them so that they seemed to separate the flowers and keep them apart from one another. Some imps were climbing up, others were slipping down; they peeped out from behind petals, climbed along stems, but all were malicious, distorted, capricious, and pushed the tops of the flowers apart in such fashion that they did not let the half-bending petals meet in kisses. Painting quickly, Irene laughed. She imagined Baron Emil saying at sight of this work: " C'est du nouveau! It is not a painted pot! it is an individual thought. There is a new quiver there. It bites."
The expressions "painted pots," "Arcadians," "it bites," " new quivers," " rheumatism of thought," and many more she had from him. And she was not the only one who borrowed. These expressions had spread in a rather large circle of people who despised everything existing, and were seeking everything which was new and astonishing. Baron Emil was cultured, had read much. He read frequently Nietsche's " Zarathustra," and spoke of the coming " race," the superhumans. He spoke some- what through his nose and through his teeth.
The superhuman is he who is able to will absolutely and unconditionally.
When Irene thought that perhaps she would soon be- come the baron's wife, and leave that house, her brows con- tracted and her jeering smile vanished. Oh, she would not let him escape her ! She had an absolute condition to put before the baron; he would accept it most assuredly, through deference to the amount of her dower. Energy glittered in her blue eyes. She turned her face toward the door of her mother's room with so quick a movement that the metallic pin in her hair cast a gleam of sharp steel above her head.
"'One must know how to will," whispered she.
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CHAPTER IV.
When Kranitski entered his own lodgings, after passing the night with Maryan, and after the long conversation with Malvina, old widow Clemens looked at him from behind her great spectacles, and dropped her hands :
" Are you sick, or what? Arabian adventure! Ah, what a look you have! What has happened? Maybe those pains have come; you have had them a number of times already. Why not take off your fur? Wait! I will help you this minute. Oh, you will be s'ck in addition to every- thing else."
She was a squatty woman, heavy, with a striped kerchief on her shoulders, and wearing a short skirt, from under which appeared flat feet in tattered overshoes. She was seventy years old, at least; her large, sallow face was much withered. Bordered by gray hair and a white cap that face was bright with the gleam of dark eyes, still riery, and quickly glancing from under a wrinkled, high forehead. Her whole figure had in it something of the fields, some- thing primitive, which seemed not to have the least rela- tion to that little drawing-room and its owner. That room contained everything which is found usually in such apart- ments, therefore: a sofa, armchairs, a table, a mirror with a console, a low and broad ottoman with cushions in Oriental fashion, porcelain figures on the console, old-fashioned shelves with books in nice bindings, a few oil paintings, small but neat, on the walls, a number of photographs, taste- fully grouped above the ottoman, a large album on the table
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before the sofa. But all this was a collection brought to- gether at various seasons, and injured by time. The cover- ing of the cushions had faded, the gilding on the mirror- frame was worn here and there, the leather covering on the furniture was worn and showed through cracks the stuffing within, the album was torn, the porcelain base of the lamp was broken. At the first cast of the eye the little drawing- room seemed elegant, but after a while, through spots and rents mended carefully, want was observed creeping forth. This want was hidden chiefly by perfect and minute clean- liness, in which one could recognize active, careful hands, industrious, untiring sweeping out, rubbing out, sewing, mending — those were the lean, aged hands, with broad palms and short fingers, which were now helping Kranitski to remove his fur coat. Meanwhile, a scolding, harsh voice, with tenderness at the base of it, continued:
" Again a night passed away from home. Surely off there with cards, or with madams of some sort! Oi, an offense against God ! And this time you come home sick. I see that you are sick, your whole face is covered with red spots, you are hardly able to stand on your feet. Arabian adventure ! "
" Give me rest! " answered Kranitski in a complaining voice. " I am sick, the most wretched of men. Every- thing is past for me — I beg you to look to the door, so that no one may enter; I am suffering too much to let in im- pertinent people."
There were tears in his eyes, and his appearance was wretched. No one was looking at him then, except his old servant, who was as faithful as a dog, so he let the fetters of artificial youth and elegance drop from him. His shoulders were bent, his cheeks pendant, above his brows were red spots and thick wrinkles. He vanished then beyond the
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half-closed door of his bedroom, and widow Clemens went back to the work interrupted by his coming. In the middle of the drawing-room, on an open card-table, lay, spread out, a dressing gown of Turkish stuff. That gown, beautiful on a time, was then faded; moreover, its lining was torn. Widow Clemens while repairing that lining and patching it had been interrupted by Kranitski's return; and now, wearing great steel-rimmed glasses, and with a brass thimble on her middle finger, she sat down again. She examined a rent through which wadding peeped out on the world, cautiously. But in spite of her attention fixed on the work she whispered, or rather talked on in a low and monotonous mutter:
" ' Look to the door, let no one in! ' As if anyone ever comes here. Long ago, comrades and various protectors used to come; they came often at first, afterward very seldom; but now it is perhaps two years since even a dog has looked in here. He could not bear impertinent people. Oh, yes! they come here, many of them, princes, counts, various rich persons. Oh, yes! while he was a novelty and brilliant they amused themselves with him as they would with a shining button, but when the button was rubbed and dull they threw it into a corner. The relations, the friends, the companions ! Arabian adventure ! Oh, this society ! "
She was silent a while, put a piece of carefully fitted ma- terial on the rent, raised her hand a number of times with the long thread, and again muttered:
" But is that society? It is sin, not society! Eoll in sin, like the devil in pitch, and then scream that it burns ! Oi, Oi!"
Silence reigned in the room; only the clock, that unavoid- able dweller in all houses, that comrade of all people, ticked monotonously on the shelf, beneath the mirror, among the porcelain figures. Widow Clemens, while sewing, industri-
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ously, muttered on. Her unbroken loneliness, the store of thoughts put away in her old head, and the care in her heart had given her the habit of soliloquy.
" And it will be worse yet. He has debts beyond calcula- tion. He will die on a litter of straw, or in a hospital. Oh, if his dead mother could see this! Arabian adventure! Un- less Stefanek and I drag him out of this pit! "
She stopped sewing and raised her spectacles to her fore- head, their glass eyes gleamed above her gray brows, and she fell into deep thought. She moved her lips from time to time, but did not mutter. By this movement of the lips, and by her wrinkles, it could be seen that she was forming some plan, that she was imagining. Just then Kranitski's voice was heard from the bedroom.
She sprang up with the liveliness of twenty years, and, with a loud clattering of old overshoes, ran to the door,
" Give me the dressing-gown, mother; I am not well; I will not go anywhere to-day."
" Here is the dressing-gown; but if the lining is torn? "
" Torn or not, give it here, and my slippers, too; for I am not well."
"Here they are! Not well? I have said not well! 0 beloved God, what will come of this? "
But, while helping him to put on the dressing-gown, she inquired, with incredulity:
" Is it true, or a joke, that you will not leave the house to-day? "
"A joke!" answered he in bitterness. "If you knew what a joke this is! I will not leave the house to-day, or to-morrow, or perhaps ever. I will lie here and grieve till I grieve to death. Oh, that it might be very soon! "
" Arabian adventure! Never has it been like this! It is easy to see that the pitch has burnt! " whispered widow Clemens to herself. But aloud she said:
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" Before you grieve to death we must get you some dinner. I will run to the town for meat. I will lock the door out- side, so that impertinent counts, and various barons should not burst in," added she, ironically.
Kranitski, left alone, locked up in his lodgings, robed in his dressing-gown, once costly, now faded, its sleeves tat- tered at the wrists, lay on the long-chair in front of his collection of pipes, arranged on the wall cunningly. In the society in which he moved collecting was universal. They collected pictures, miniatures, engravings, autographs, porce- lain, old books, old spoons, old stuffs. Kranitski collected pipes. Some he had bought, but the greater number, by far, he had received on anniversaries of his name's-day, in proof of friendly recollection, and as keepsakes after a journey. During years many were collected, about a hundred; among them some were valuable, some poor but original, some even ridiculous, some immense in size, some small, some bright colored, some almost black; they were arranged on shelves at the wall with taste, and effec- tively.
Besides these pipes there were in the bed-room other ob- jects of value: a writing-desk of peculiar wood, a porcelain frame, with Cupids at the top, surrounding an oval mirror, at which were bottles, vials, toilet boxes, and a rather long cigarette-case of pure gold, which Kranitski kept with him at all times, and which, as he lay now in the long-chair, he turned in his fingers, mechanically. This cigarette-case was a precious memento. He had received it soon after his arrival in the city, twenty and some years before, from Countess Eugenia, his mother's aunt. From their first meet- ing the countess was simply wild about him. Society even insisted, notwithstanding her more than ripe years, that she was madly in love with that uncommonly beautiful and
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blooming young man, who had been reared by his mother with immense care, and trained to appear successfully in that society to which she had been born. Kranitski's mother, through various causes, had become the victim of a mesalliance; she grieved out, and wept away secretly; her life, in a village corner, after marrying a noble who was perfectly honorable, but neither a man of the world, nor the owner of much property. She desired for her only son a better fate than she herself had had, and prepared him for it long beforehand. He spoke French with a Parisian accent, and English quite well; he was versed in the litera- tures of Western Europe; he was a famous dancer; he was obliging; he had an inborn instinct of kindness toward peo- ple; he was popular, sought after, petted; when the money with which his mother furnished him proved insufficient he obtained a small office, through the influence of" wealthy relatives, which, besides increasing his revenue, gave him a certain independent aspect. He passed whole days in great and wealthy houses, where he read books, aloud, to old prin- cesses and countesses, and for young princesses and count- esses; he held skeins of silk on his opened hands. He car- ried out commissions and various small affairs; at balls he led dances; he amused himself; fell in love, was loved in return; he passed evenings and nights in clubs, and in private rooms at restaurants, at theatres, and behind the scenes in theatres, where he paid homage to famous actresses of various degrees and qualities. Those were times truly joyous and golden. At that period he was served not by widow Clemens, but by a man; he dined — if not with friends or relatives — at the best restaurants. At that time, too, he did something magnanimous, which brought reward in the form of great mental profit: He passed a whole year in Italy with Count Alfred, his relative, who
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was suffering from consumption; Kranitski nursed, amused, and comforted his cousin with patience, attach- ment, and tenderness which were perfectly sincere, and which came from a heart inclined to warm, almost sub- missive feelings. In return that year gave him skill in the use of Italian, and a wide acquaintance with the achievements and the schools of art, of which he was an enthusiastic worshipper. Soon after he went with Prince Zeno to Paris, learned France and its capital well, and on his return remained for some time as a reader with the prince, whose eyes were affected. His power of beautiful reading in many languages brought him a wide reputation; he was distinguished in drawing-rooms by the ease of his speech and manners; to some he became a valued assistant in entertaining guests, and a pleasant com- panion in hours of loneliness; to others he was a master in the domain of amusements, and elegance in the arts of politeness and pleasure. At this period also he made the acquaintance of Darvid, and met his wife, whom he had known from childhood, and who had been his earliest ideal of womanhood. Thenceforth, his relations with other houses were relaxed considerably, for he gave himself to the Darvid house soul and body. Though Malvina's chil- dren had many tutors, he taught one of her daughters Italian, and the other English; he did this with devotion, with delight; and, therefore, that house became, as it were, his own, and was ever open to him. Moreover, dur- ing the last ten years great changes had happened in that society of which he was the adopted child, and so long the favorite.
Countess Eugenia had given her daughter in marriage to a French count, and resided in Paris; Count Alfred was dead; dead, also, was that dear, kindly Baroness Blauendorf,
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from whom he had received as a gift that mirror with porce- lain frame and Cupids. Others, too, were dead, or were living elsewhere. Only Prince Zeno remained, but he had cooled toward his former reader, notably because of the princess, who could not forgive Kranitski; since, as was too well known by all, he was occupied with the wife of that millionaire — the eternally absent.
There were still many acquaintances, and more recent relations, but these had neither the charm nor the certainty of those which time had in various ways broken, brought to an end, or relaxed.
His mother, the foundress of his destiny, had ceased to live some time before that.
" Pauvre maman! pauvre maman ! "
How tenderly and unboundedly he had loved her. How long he had hesitated and fought with himself before he left at her persuasion, the house in which she had given birth to him. He regretted immensely the village, the free- dom, and that bright-haired maiden in the neighborhood. But the wide world and the great city took on, in his mother's narrative, the outlines of paradise, and his worthy relatives, the forms of demi-gods.
When at last, after long hesitation and struggles, he re- solved to go away, how many were the kisses and em- braces of his mother! how many were her maxims and advices; how many her predictions of happiness. He be- gan to look at his own form in the mirrors, and to feel in his own person the movement of desires, hopes, am- bitions. Once he caught himself bowing and making gestures, almost involuntarily, before the mirrors. He laughed aloud, his mother laughed also, for she had caught him in the act red-handed.
"Pauvre maman! pauvre, chere mam^n!"
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And on the background of that domestic gladness, of those wonderful hopes, only one person by her conduct had raised a cloud on that heaven, beaming serenely. That was widow Clemens, an old servant of the house, and once his nurse, not young even at that time, and a childless widow.
She was morose, grumbling, peevish, but for a long time she said nothing; she did not hinder the thin, gray-haired mother, nor the youth, beautiful as a dream, from rejoicing and imagining; till at last she spoke when alone with the petted stripling. It was the end of an autumn day, twilight had begun to come down on the yard in Lipovka, and the linden grove, in a black line, cut through the evening ruddi- ness glowing in the western heavens. Widow Clemens, with her eyes fixed on the grove and the red of evening, said:
" 6i! Tulek, Tulek! how will this be? You will go away; you will take up and go away; but the sun will rise and set; the grove will rustle; the wheat will ripen; and the snow will fall when you are gone."
He sat on the bench of the piazza, and said nothing. But in the distant fields, in the growing darkness, a shepherd's whistle gave out clear tones, simple, monotonous, they flew along the field like the weeping of space.
" Why go; do you know why — God alone knows. What are you throwing away? The beauties of God. T\Tiat will you bring back? Perhaps the mud people cast at you."
A cow bellowed in the stable; a belated working-woman muttered a song somewhere behind in the garden. The evening red was quenched; and above the roof the crescent of the moon came out, thin and like silver.
Widow Clemens whispered:
"Ill-fated! ill-fated boy ! "
He was immensely far from considering himself ill-
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fated, but something in his heart felt pain at leaving that village where he was born, at leaving Malvina, and it seemed to him that he ought to stay.
But he went. The Argonaut, of twenty and some years of age, went out into the world, slender, adroit, with eyes dark and fiery as youth, with cheeks shapely and fresh as peaches, with a forehead as white and pure as the petal of a lily; he went for a wife with a fortune, for the pleas- ures of the world — for the golden fleece.
N"ow he wrapped himself closely in the skirt of his faded dressing-gown, and let his head droop so low that the bald spot seemed white on the top of it; his lower lip dropped; the red spots came out over his dark brows on his wrinkled forehead. In his hand he held the cigarette-case presented by Countess Eugenia, now living in Paris, and at times he turned it in his fingers, with an unconscious movement, and that glittering object cast on the tattered sleeve of his dress- ing-gown, on his suffering face, on his long, thin fingers, its bright, golden reflection.
Meanwhile widow Clemens had returned to the kitchen, and there, not without a loud clattering of overshoes, had begun to cook the dinner. But Kranitski neither heard nor saw anything. From time to time the head, with its great cap, looked in through the kitchen door, gazed on him un- quietly and pushed back to look in again soon.
" Will you have dinner now? " inquired she at last. " It is ready."
In a low voice he asked for dinner, but he ate almost nothing; the woman had never yet seen him so broken, still she made no inquiry. When the moment came he would tell all himself. He was not of those who bear secrets to the grave with them. She waited on the man, gave him food, brought tea, cleared the table in silence. Once she
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fell into trouble: Passing hurriedly through the room she lost one of the overshoes which she had on her feet:
"Ah! may thou be! — they fall off every moment!" grumbled she, and for some minutes she struggled with that overshoe, which, dropping from her foot, slipped along the floor noisily. Kranitski raised his head:
" What is that? '* inquired he.
She made no answer, but when she was near the kitchen door, he cried:
" What have you on your feet that clatter so ? It is irritat- ing! "
She stopped at the door:
"What have I on my feet? Well, your old overshoes! Am I to wear out shoes every day, and then buy new ones? 'Irritating!' Arabian adventure! God grant that you never have worse irritation than overshoes clattering on the floor! "
And she grumbled on in the kitchen while going with an empty glass to the samov&r:
" You wouldn't have a pinch of tea in the house if I went around in new shoes all my time! "
Darkness came down. Kranitski smoked cigarettes one after another, and was so sunk in thought that he trembled throughout his body. When widow Clemens brought in a lamp, with a milk-colored globe, which filled the room with a white, mild light, Kranitski looked at the head of the old woman in the white lamp-light, and, for the first time in a number of hours, he spoke:
" Come, mother, come nearer! " said he.
When she came he seized her rude fist in both his hands and shook it vigorously.
" What could I do; what would happen to me now, if you were not with me ? No living soul of my own here! Alone, alone, as in a desert."
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The onrush of tenderness burst through all obstructions. Confidences flowed on. He had loved for the last time in life, le dernier amour, and all had ended. She had forbidden him to see her. That decision of hers had been ripening for a long time. Keproaches of conscience, shame, despair as to her children. One daughter knew everything; the other might know it any day. She had let out of her hands the rudder of those hearts and consciences, for when she was talking with them her own fault closed her lips, like a red- hot seal. She thought herself the most pitiful of creatures. She did not wish to make further use of her husband's wealth, or the position which it give her in society. She wished to go away, to settle down in some silent corner, vanish from the eyes of people.
Kranitski was so excited that he almost sobbed; here his speech was interrupted by a rough, sarcastic voice:
" It is well that she came to her senses at last "
"What senses? What are you weaving, mother? You know nothing. Love is never an offense. lis ont peche, mats le ceil est un don."
" You are mad, Tulek! Am I some madam that you must speak French to me? "
Still he finished:
" lis ont souffert, c'est le sceau du pardon. I will translate
this for thee: They have sinned, but heaven is a gift
They have suffered; suffering is the seal of pardon."
" Tulek, let heaven alone! To mix up such things with heaven — Arabian adventure! "
" Are you a priest, mother? I tell you of my own suffer- ing and the suffering of that noble, sweet being "
In the antechamber, the door of which widow Clemens, in returning from the city, had not locked, was heard stamping, and the youthful voice of a man called :
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" Is your master at home? "
" Arabian adventure! " muttered widow Clemens.
"Maryan!" exclaimed Kranitski with delight, and he answered aloud:
" I am at home, at home! "
"An event worthy of record in universal history," an- swered the voice of a man speaking somewhat through his nose and teeth.
"And the baron!" cried Kranitski; then he whis- pered:
" Close the drawing-room door, mother; I must freshen up a little," and from behind the closed door he spoke to those who were in the drawing-room:
" In a moment, my dears, in a moment I shall be at your service."
In the light of the lamp, placed by widow Clemens in the drawing-room, he appeared, indeed, after a few minutes, dressed, his hair arranged, perfumed, elegant with springy movements and an unconstrained smile on his lips. Only his lids were reddened, and on his forehead were many wrin- kles which would not be smoothed away.
"A comedian! There is a comedian! " grumbled widow Clemens, returning to the kitchen, with a terrible clatter of overshoes.
The two young men pressed his hand in friendship. It was clear that they liked him.
" Why did you avoid us all day? " inquired Baron Emil. "We waited for you at Borel's — ^he gave us an excellent dinner. But maybe you are fasting? "
"Let him alone, he has his suffering," put in Maryan. " I am so sorry, mon Ion vieux (my good old man), that I have persuaded the baron to join me in taking you out. I cannot, of course, leave you a victim to melancholy."
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Kranitski was moved; gratitude and tenderness were gaz- ing out of his eyes.
" Thanks, thanks! You touch me."
He pressed the hands of both in turn, holding Maryan's hand longer than the baron's, with the words:
" My dear — dear — dear."
The young man smiled.
" Do not grow so tender," said he, " for that injures the interior. You are, however, a son of that generation which possesses an antidote for melancholy."
"What is it?"
" Well, faith, hope, charity, with resignation and — other painted pots. We haven't them, so we go to Tron-tron's, where Lili Kerth sings. We are to give her a supper to- night at Borel's. Borel has promised me everything which the five parts of the world can give."
"As to the problematic nature of that Lili," remarked the baron, " there are moments in which she takes on the superhuman ideal."
" What an idea, dear baron! " burst out Kranitski. " Lili and superhumanity, the ideal ! Why, she is a little beast that sings abject things marvellously."
" That is it, that is it! " said the baron, defending his position, " a little beast in the guise of an angel — the sing- ing of chansonettes with such a devil in the body — and at the same time a complexion, a look, a smile, which scatters a kind of mystic, lily perfume. This is precisely that dis- sonance, that snap, that mystery with which she has con- quered Europe. This rouses curiosity; it excites; it is op- posed to rules, to harmony — do you understand? "
" Stop, Emil! " cried Maryan, laughing. " You are Bpeaking to the guardian of tombs. He worships harmony yet."
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Kranitski seemed humiliated somewhat. He passed his palm over his hair, and began timidly:
" But that is true, my dears; I see myself that I am be- coming old-fashioned. Men of my time, and I, called a cat a cat, a rogue a rogue. If a Lili like yours put on the airs of an angel we said: ' Oh, she is a rogue! ' And we knew what to think of the matter. But this confounding of pro- fane with sacred, of the rudest carnalism with a mystic ten- dency "
The baron and Maryan laughed.
" For you this is all Greek, and will remain Greek. You were born in the age of harmony, you will remain on the side of harmony. But a truce to talk. Let us go. Come, you will hear Lili Kerth; we shall sup together."
" Come, we have a place in the carriage for you," said the baron, supporting young Darvid's invitation.
Kranitski grew as radiant as if a sun-ray had fallen on his face.
" Very well, my dears, very well, I will go with you; it will distract me, freshen me. A little while only; will you permit?"
" Of course. Willingly. We will wait."
He hurried to his bedroom, and closed the door behind him. In his head whirled pictures and expressions: the theatre, songs, amusement, supper, conversation, the bright light — everything, in a word, to which he had grown accus- tomed, and with which he had lived for many years. The foretaste of delight penetrated through his grievous sorrows. After the bitter mixture he felt the taste of caramels in his mouth. He ran toward his dressing-table, but in the middle of the room he stood as if fixed to the floor. His eye met a beautiful heliotype, standing on the bureau in the light of the lamp; from the middle of the room, in a motion-
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less posture, Kranitski gazed at the face of the woman, which was enclosed in an ornamented frame.
"Poor, dear soul! Noble creature!" whispered he, and his lips quivered, and on his forehead appeared the red spots. Maryan called from beyond the door:
" Hurry, old man! We shall be late! "
A few minutes afterward Kranitski entered the drawing- room. His shoulders were bent; his lids redder than before,
" I cannot — as I love you, I cannot go with you! I feel ill."
"Indeed, he must be ill!" cried Maryan. "See, Emil, how our old man looks! He is changed, is he not? "
" But a moment ago you looked well! " blurted out Emil, and added: " Do not become wearisome, do not get sick. Sick people are fertilizers on the field of death — and sick- ness is annoying ! "
" Splendidly said ! " exclaimed Maryan.
"No, no," answered Kranitski, "this is not important, it is an old trouble of the liver. Eeturned only to-day — you must go without me."
He straightened himself, smiled, tried to move without constraint, but unconquerable suffering was evident on his features and in the expression of his eyes.
" May we send the doctor? " asked Maryan.
" No, no," protested Kranitski, and the baron took him by the arm and turned him toward the bedroom. Though Kranitski's shoulders were bent at that moment, his form was shapely and imposing; the baron, holding his arm, seemed small and frail; he made one think of a fly. In the bedroom he said, with a low voice:
" It is reported in the city that papa Darvid is opposed to my plans concerning Panna Irene. Do you know of this? "
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For some months the haron had spoken frequently with Kranitski about his plans, taking counsel with him even at times, and begging for indications. "Was he not the most intimate friend of that house, and surely an adviser of the family? Kranitski did not think, or even speak, of Baron Emil otherwise than:
" Ce brave gargon has the best heart in the world; he is very highly developed and intelligent; yes, very intelligent; and his mother, that dear, angelic baroness, was one of the most beautiful stars among those which have lighted my life."
So through the man's innate inclination to an optimistic view of mankind, and his grateful memory of " one of the most beautiful stars," he was always very friendly to the baron and favorable to his plan touching Irene; all the more since he noted in her an inclination toward the baron. So, usually, he gave the young man counsel and answers will- ingly and exhaustively. This time, however, an expression of constraint and of suffering fell on his face.
" I know not, dear baron; indeed, I can do nothing, for to tell— for I "
A number of drops of perspiration came out on his fore- head, and he added, with difficulty:
" It seems that Panna Irene "
" Panna Irene," interrupted the baron, without noticing Kranitski's emotion, "is a sonnet from Baudelaire's Les fleurs du mal (The flowers of evil). There is in her some- thing undefined, something contradictory "
Kranitski made a quick movement.
" My baron "
" But do you not understand me, dear Pan Arthur? I have no intention of speaking ill of Panna Irene. In my mouth the epithets which I have used are the highest
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praise. Panna Irene is interesting precisely for this reason, that she is indefinite and complicated. She is a disenchanted woman. She possesses that universal irony which is the stamp of higher natures. Oh, Panna Irene is not a violet unless from the hot-house of Baudelaire! But, just for that reason she rouses curiosity, irritates, une desabusee — une vierge desabusee. Do you understand ? There is in this the odor of mystery — a new quiver. But with natures of this sort nothing can ever be certain "
" Hers is a noble nature ! " cried Kranitski, with enthu- siasm.
"You divide natures into noble and not noble," said the baron, with a smile; "but I, into annoying and in- teresting."
Beyond the door the loud voice of Maryan was heard:
" Emil, I will leave you and go to Tron-tron's. I will tell Lili Kerth that you remained for the night to nurse a sick friend."
These words seemed to them so amusing that they laughed, from both sides of the closed door, simultaneously.
" Good! " cried the baron. You will create for me the fame of a good Christian. As the Brandenburger fears only God, I fear only the ridiculous, and go."
A few minutes later the two friends were no longer in the dwelling of Kranitski, who was sitting on his long chair again, with drooping head, turning in his fingers the golden cigarette-case. The street outside the window was lonely enough, so the rumble of the departing carriage was audible. Kranitski followed it with his ear, and when it was silent he regretted passionately for a moment that he had not gone to where people were singing and jesting, and eat- ing, and drinking in bright light, in waves of laughter. But, straightway, he felt an invincible distaste for all that.
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He was so sad, crushed, sick. Why had not those two young friends of his remained longer? He had rendered them the most varied services frequently, he had simply been at their service always, and had loved them; especially Mar3'an, the dear child — and many others. How many times had he nursed them, also, in sickness, consoled them, rescued them, amused them. Now, when he cannot run after them, as a dog after its mistress, his only comrades are darkness and silence.
Darkness reigned in the little drawing-room, silence of the grave in the whole dwelling. A clatter of overshoes broke this silence; widow Clemens stood in the kitchen door. On her high forehead, above her gray eyebrows, shone the glass eyes of her spectacles; her left hand was covered with a man's sock which she was darning. She stood in the door and looked at Kranitski, bent, grown old, buried in gloomy silence, and shook her head. Then, as quietly as ever was possible for her, she approached the long-chair, sat on a stool which was near it, and asked:
"Well, why are you silent, and chewing sorrow alone? Talk with me, you will feel easier."
As he gazed at her silently, she asked in a still lower tone:
" Well, the woman? Did she love you greatly? Was her love real? How did you and she come to your senses? "
After a few minutes' hesitation, or thought, Kranitski, with his elbows on the edge of the chair, and his forehead on his palms, said :
" I can tell all, mother, for you are not of our society, and you are noble, faithful; the only one on earth who remains with me."
Throughout the silent chamber was heard, as it were, the sound of a trumpet: that sound was made by widow
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Clemens, who had drawn from her pocket a coarse hand- kerchief and held it to her nose. Her eyes were moist. Kranitski quivered and squirmed, but continued :
" When we met the first time after parting, the spring season was around us. You know that we parted only be- cause I had too little fortune to marry a portionless maiden, and my mother would not hear of my marrying a governess. Soon after, that rich man married her. Fiu! fiu! what be- came of that governess, that girl more timid than a violet? She became a society lady, full of life, elegance, style — ^but springtime breathed around us, memories of the village, of the flowers, of the fields, of our earliest, heartfelt emotions. Did she love her husband? Poor, dear, soul! It seems that at first she was attached to him, but he left her, neglected her, grasped after millions throughout the whole world. He was strong, unbending — she was ever alone. Alone in soci- ety! Alone in the house — for the children were small yet, and she so sensitive and weak, needing friendship and the fondling of a devoted heart. I fell on my knees in spirit before her — she felt that. He, when going away, left me near her as an adviser, a guardian for the time, even a protector, yes, a pro-tec-tor — the parvenul the idiot! So wise, yet so stupid — ^ha! ha! ha! "
Sneering, vengeful laughter contorted Kranitski's face, the red spots spread over his brows and covered half of his forehead, which was drawn now into thick wrinkles.
" Do not vex yourself, Tulek, do not vex yourself, you will be ill," urged widow Clemens; but once his confessions were begun he went on with them.
" For a year or more there was nothing between us. We were friends, but she held me at a distance; she struggled. You, mother, know if I had success with women "
" You had, to your eternal ruin, you had ! " blurted out widow Clemens.
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" From youth I had the gift of reading; I owe much to it."
"Ei! you owe much to it! What do you owe to it? Your sin against God, and the waste of your life! " said the widow, ready for a dispute, but he went on without noting that.
" Once she was weak after a violent attack of neuralgia; it was late in the evening, the great house was empty and dark, the children were sleeping — I gave her the attention that a brother or a mother would give; I was careful; I hid what was happening within me; I acted as though I were watching over a sick child which was dear to me, I enter- tained her with conversation; I spoke in a low voice; I gave her medicine and confectionery. Afterward I began to read. More than once she had said that my reading was music. I was reading Musset. You do not know, mother, who Musset is. He is the poet of love — of that love exactly which the world calls forbidden. She wanted something from the neighboring chamber; I went for it. When I returned our eyes met, and — well, I read no more that evening."
He was barely able to utter the last words; he covered his face with his handkerchief, rested his head on the arm of the long-chair, was motionless; wept, perhaps. Widow Clemens bent down, the corner of her coarse handkerchief came from her pocket, and through the chamber that sound of a trumpet was heard for the second time. Then she drew her bench up still nearer, and, with her hand in the stock- ing-foot, touched Kranitski's arm, and whispered:
"Say no more, Tulek; despair not! Let God up there judge her and you. He is a strict judge, but merciful ! I am sorry for you, but also for her, poor thing! What is to be done ? The heart is not stone, man is not an angel ! Only drive off despair! Everything passes, and your sorrow also will pass. You may be better off in the world than you
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now are. You may yet enjoy pleasant quiet in Lipovka, in your own cottage. Stefanek and I may think out something, so that you will escape from the mud of this city." Kranitski made no answer; the woman spoke on: " I have had another letter from Stefanek." " What does that honest man write? " asked Kranitski. The widow flushed up in anger:
" It is true that he is honest, and there is no need to call him that — «s if through favor, or sneering. Arabian ad- venture! He is only my godson, but better than men of high birth. He writes that management in Lipovka goes well; that again he has set out a hundred fruit-trees in the garden; that in four weeks he will come and bring a little money."
" Money! " whispered Kranitski; " but that is well! " "It is surely well, for that Jew would have taken your furniture if I had not pushed him down the steps, and a second time begged him to wait." She laughed. " To push him down was easier than to beg, for I am strong, and he is as small as a fly. Well I almost kissed his hands, and he promised to wait. ' For widow Clemens I will do this,^ said he, 'because she is a servant who is like a mother.' Indeed, I am like a mother ! I have no children, I have no one of my own in the world — I have only you." Kranitski looked at her and began to shake his head with a slow movement. She, too, fixing her fiery and gloomy eyes on his eyes, shook slowly her head, which was covered with a great cap.
The lamp burning on the bureau threw its white light on those two heads, which, discoursing sadly, continued their melancholy converse without words; it shone also on the varied collection of pipes at the wall, and cast passing gleams on the golden cigarette-case which Kranitski turned in his hand.
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CHAPTER V
Daevid was in splendid humor — ^he had bought at auction a house and broad grounds very reasonably. He eared little for the house — ^it was a rubbishy old pile which he would remove very soon — ^but the grounds, covered then with an extensive garden, represented an uncommonly profitable transaction. Situated near one of the railroad stations, he would, of course, receive a high price for it, because of the need to put there a great public edifice.
Darvid would sell the ground to those who needed it, and then make proposals to build the edifice. This was the third undertaking which had fallen to him since his return, a few months before. What of that, when the most im- portant, for which he would have given the other three will- ingly, had not fallen yet to him, and he did not know well what had been done concerning it? This affair did not let him sleep sometimes, still it did not disincline him from working at that which he had begun already.
The day was clear, sUghtly frosty, myriads of brilliants were glittering in the white rime which covered the trees, and in the snow which lay on the extensive garden. Darvid, in company with a surveyor, an engineer, and an architect, walked through the garden, but the object of his walk was in no way the contemplation of nature bound up under marbles, and alabasters sprinkled with brilKants. The en- gineer brought him a plan for the purchase of the place, and supported the interests of his employers energetically; the surveyor and the architect spoke of their part, pointed
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out with gestures the proportions and various points of the open area. Darvid, in a closely fitting fur coat, finished with an original and very costly collar, with a shining hat on his head, walked over the ground with even tread; he lis- tened rather than spoke, there was a silent satisfaction in his smile, when suddenly an immense brightness reflected from a tree, directly in front, dazzled his eyesight. The tree, which resembled a lofty pillar, had on each of its branches a plume, cut as it were delicately from alabaster, every feather of this plume flamed like a torch lighted in a rainbow. Sheafs of rainbow gleams shot out of that won- derful carving, and from that fountain of many-colored light. Darvid put his glasses on his nose suddenly, and said with a painful twist of the mouth :
" What unendurable light! "
The architect looked at the tree and said, with a smile:
" No man, not even a Greek master, has ever finished a pillar like that."
" The only pity is that it cannot be used," replied Darvid, smiling also.
" You are not a lover of nature, that is true; while I "
began the engineer.
" On the contrary, on the contrary. During intervals I have looked at nature here and there," said Darvid, play- fully. " But to become her lover, as you say, I have not had leisure. To love nature is a luxury which iron toil does not know — a luxury which must have leisure."
With these words he turned from the beautiful work of nature and intended to go on, but again he halted. He found himself at the picket fence, which divided the garden from the street, and in the movement of the street he saw something which occupied him greatly.
It was the hour of departure for one of the railroad
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trains. The street was wide, and the ground on both sides of it was not entirely occupied yet with houses, many carriages on wheels, and a multitude of sleighs were hast- ening toward the near railway station. The sleighs shot forward with clinking harness, the snow under wheels squeaked complainingly, the drivers uttered brief shouts. The hats of men and women, various kinds of furs, the liveries of coachmen, the horses puffing steam, covered here and there with colored nets, formed a motley, chang- ing line, moving forward with a rattle and an outcry along the white snow, in an atmosphere glittering from frost and sunlight.
One of the carriages looked like a flower garden. Eoses, camelias, pinks, and violets were creeping out — simply pour- ing out — through its windows. The carriage was filled with bouquets, garlands, baskets. Among these, as in a flood of various colors, appeared in the heart of it the broad-rimmed hat of a woman. Immediately behind the carriage rushed a sleigh drawn by a pair of grand horses, the driver wear- ing an enormous fur collar, and in the sleigh were two young men, at whose feet again was a basket of flowers, but the finest and costliest, very rare and expensive orchids. The carriage and sleigh shot forward through the many-colored crowd of the street, as if some enchanted vision of spring had risen through the snow and then vanished.
"Who is that lady in the carriage filled with flowers?" asked Darvid, turning to his companions.
" Bianca Biannetti."
That was a name which needed no commentary. Darvid smiled, with satisfaction. It was not wonderful that Maryan and the little baron were escorting to the station that woman of European fame, and were taking flowers to her,
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Of course, of course. He himself a number of times in his life — and if it was not oftener, it was because time had failed him.
" There will be an amusing history to-day at the station," said the engineer, " A special train for Bianca; it is to leave five minutes after the regular one."
" For what purpose ? " asked the architect.
" It is easy to divine: to have five minutes longer to enjoy the society of the great singer."
" An extra train! That is madness! " said Darvid. " Who did this? "
The engineer and architect exchanged significant glances, and the former answered:
" Your son."
The skin on Darvid's face quivered, but he answered with perfect composure:
"Ah, true! I remember Maryan told me something of this. I persuaded him a little, but he insisted. What is to be done ? II faut que la jeuness se passe (youth must have its day)."
Then he gave his hand to the three men in farewell:
" I am sorry that we cannot finish our discussions to-day, but I remember an important affair. I beg you, gentlemen, to come to-morrow at the usual hour of my receptions."
He raised his hat and left them.
"To the station! Hurry!" said he to the driver while entering the carriage.
At the station stood a row of cars with a locomotive sending up steam. A throng of people were moving toward the snow-covered platform, and hurrying to the train. Darvid came out also, searching with his eyes for a youthful face which filled his sleepless nights with care. At first he could not find it, but when many people had
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entered the train, those assembled for the passive role of spectators formed a group and turned their glances toward one point upon the platform. There in the hands of a number of people bloomed a garden of beautiful flowers, and near them two persons were conversing with great animation. The opera singer was an Italian, a beautiful brunette, with eyes blazing like dark stars. Conversing with her in her own language was a young man, younger than she, very youthful, light - haired, shapely, elegantly dressed. At some steps from this pair, in a careless posture, with an unoccupied air, stood Baron EmU, fragile and red-haired.
The bell, summoning passengers, was heard in the frosty air for the second time. The lady, with a charming smile, bowed in sign of farewell, and made a step toward the train, but the young man barred the way with a movement made adroitly, talking meanwhile, and holding her under the de- termined glance of his blue eyes. Without showing alarm she delayed, smiled, and listened.
Darvid stood on the platform, lost in that crowd of the curious, and snatches of conversation struck his ear.
" She will not go! " said one man.
" She will! There is time enough yet! " said another.
" He detains her purposely, so that she may not go."
" He does, for she is beautiful. Her smile is as charm- ing as her song."
" He is a daring boy," said some third man near Darvid's other ear. " Look, look, how he talks her down purposely — poor woman, she will go back to the city beaten."
" But no! That would be an impoliteness on his part."
"Who is this handsome young man with golden hair?" asked some woman.
" Young Darvid. The son of the great financier. How young! He is a child."
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"A man with millions ripens quickly, like a peach in sunlight."
" What language are they speaking? I cannot hear, but it is not French."
" Italian; she is Italian."
"But he chatters in that language as if he were her compatriot."
" Millions are like the tongues at Pentecost," said the man who had mentioned peaches, " whoever is touched by them speaks every language on earth right away."
All the passengers had vanished in the cars, the doors of which were fastened now with loud clinking. This time the opera singer stepped forward quickly, but young Darvid spoke a few words which brought to her face astonishment and the most beautiful smile in the world; she nodded, agreed to something, gave thanks for something in the same way that kindly queens consent to receive marks of the highest honor from their subjects.
In the crowd surrounding Darvid someone laughed:
" Ah, he is a stunning fellow! he will not let her go! "
" How handsome he is, that young Darvid! " said a woman.
" He looks like a young prince," added another.
" But what will come of this ? She will not go."
"She will go!"
" She will not go! "
" I will bet! "
"I will bet!"
In a moment a number of bets were made behind Darvid as to whether the woman, who was talking to his son, would go from the city that day or not. On his thin lips a smile of satisfaction appeared, the eyes from behind his glasses looked at his son with an expression which was almost mild.
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A young prince! Yes, that is true. What freedom of manner, what grace! What fine disregard for the common throng gazing at him! Triumphant even with women! That woman, famous throughout Europe, is simply devour- ing him with those black eyes of hers.
The hell was heard on the platform for the third time, and at the same moment a prolonged whistle pierced the air. The wheels of the train began to turn with a slow, measured movement.
" It is over! " cried someone in the crowd. " She has not gone! "
" I have lost the bet! " said a number of voices.
"How splendid that that handsome youth has carried his point," said a woman.
Meanwhile, from the remotest end of the platform, new whistHng of a locomotive came up, and the measured beat of wheels on the rails was heard; at some distance a cer- tain black mass appeared, it pushed forward faster and faster, until under the smoke came out clearly the cylinder of a locomotive, drawing behind it a short row of wagons. This was the train, and small, fresh, elegant. This train glittered in the sunlight with its yellow brass fittings, gleamed in its sapphire-colored varnish. Its rich interior, with cushions of purple velvet, was visible through the windows. A conductor opened the door of a car and stood near it in an expectant position. Maryan, with a motion of request, indicated it to the celebrated singer.
Now the people standing on the platform understood everything, and fell into enthusiasm. The spirit, which rose to that plan and threw out a large sum of money for the sake of it, struck the imagination and roused the sym- pathy of people inclined to gold and strange acts, without reference to their object or value. On the platform was
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heard the sharp clapping of some tens of hands, and soon after the locomotive whistled once more, and that small, special train pushed forward into space, only five minutes later than the regular train which preceded it.
Darvid stood near the door of the station whence he could see his son, who passed with slow step along a part of the platform. And he looked at him with unquiet curi- osity, for something unexpected in Maryan astonished him. In contradiction to what one might expect, and which seemed natural, there was not in the expression of face and the movements of Maryan either the pleasure of youth at something accomplished, or sorrow at the departure of the woman, for whom he had accomplished it. When a mo- ment before applause was heard on the platform, he looked around and cast on the hand-clapping crowd a passing glance, as indifferent as if they were an object not worthy of con- tempt, even. Now, too, his whole person expressed perfect indifference, nay, even annoyance, which contracted his lips, and yellowed the rosiness of his round cheeks somewhat. In his blue eyes, fixed glassily on the distance, was depicted something like dissatisfaction, or a feeling of disappointment, a dreaming, or a pondering in vain over deceitful visions which pass over space, but which no one can seize upon. He did not see his father, for his glassy eyes were looking far away at some point. Even the baron did not see Darvid; he was searching for something in his pocketbook carefully, till he took out a ten-rouble note and threw it at the porters who had borne in the baggage and flowers of the prima- donna. At the same time he cast these words through his teeth at them:
" I have no small money! "
Maryan, without rousing himself from thought, said, as if mechanically;
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"It is wonderful!'*
" What? " asked the baron.
" That everything in the world is so little, so little."
" Except my appetite, which is immense at this moment," cried the baron.
" But those fabulous sums which Maryan must expend! " thought Darvid going to his carriage; before he reached it he heard other snatches of conversation:
" To throw away so much money for a few moments' talk with a beautiful woman — that is a character! "
" It promises trouble, does it not? "
" Especially for papa."
" He has as many debts, no doubt, as curly hairs on his head."
" He borrows, of course, on the security of papa's pocket."
" Or his death."
Others said:
"In such hands ill-gotten gains will go to the devil quickly."
"Why ill-gotten gains?"
" Well, can you imagine Saint Francis of Assisi making millions?"
While his carriage was rolling along the streets of the city, Darvid's head was full of conflicting ideas. True, true; that green youth had a special capacity for devouring the golden sands of Pactolus! But in what a charming and princely fashion he did that! Darvid was proud of his son, and at the same time greatly dismayed and troubled; for this could not last. That lad was making debts in view of — his father's death. And this absolute idleness! What good was a man who did nothing? The results also of idleness were evident in him: a certain premature withering, a cer-
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tain dreaming without object — a handsome fellow! he looked as if born to a princely coronet. As Darvid was ascending the marble steps of his mansion he said to the Swiss:
" When Pan Maryan comes home say that I request him to come to me."
Darvid passed an hour or more in his study, alone, over papers, writing, taking notes, examining various accounts, and letters; but over his face, from time to time, ran a dis- agreeable quiver, and the nervous movements of his hand caused sheets of paper to rustle unpleasantly. At last the door of the antechamber opened and Maryan appeared, hat in hand.
" Good-day, my father," began he on entering. " I am glad that you invited me, for it is long since I have had the pleasure of talking with you. We both have been greatly occupied. For some weeks Bianca Biannetti has taken all my time."
He was perfectly unconstrained, though not at all glad- some in his manner. Darvid, standing at the round table, looked at his son quickly.
" Are you in love with that singer? " asked he.
Only then did Maryan laugh unaffectedly, almost loudly.
" What a question, my father; love is a sanctuary, built on a poppy-seed; love then is sacred; while my fancy for that beautiful Bianca "
" Is a poppy-seed which you are transporting through the world on special trains," finished Darvid.
" Have you heard of that, father? "
" I have seen it."
"Ah, you were at the station! Strange that I did not see you."
He made a gesture of contempt with his hand.
" I was disappointed. I planned that surprise for Bianca,
113
The Argonauts
and felt sure of a lively pleasure. When the time came I convinced myself that the affair was a trifle, not new, and, like everything, stupid. So it is always: what imagination builds up in a long time, criticism overturns in a twinkle. It is impossible to invent anything important. The world is so aged that it has come to us a worn-out old rag."
He took a seat on one of the armchairs surrounding the table, and put his hat on the carpet. Darvid replied with- out changing his posture:
" Nothing wonderful; when imagination builds up stu- pidities criticism overturns the building in a twinkle '^
" Who can be sure that he is building up wisdom? " in-