“In that case, buy a harp for yourself,” added Pan Stanislav, jeeringly.
At mention of the harp, Bigiel seized his violoncello, saying that they ought to end such an evening with music. Marynia sat at the piano, and they began one of Handel’s serenades. Pan Ignas had the impression that the soul was going out of him. He took those mild tones into himself, and was flying amid the night, lulling Lineta to sleep with them. Late in the evening, he came out, as if strengthened with the sight of those worthy people.
CHAPTER XLVI.
Marynia had such peace “as God gave,” but really deep. A great aid to finding it was that voice from beyond the grave,—the little book, yellowed by years, in which she read “that a woman should not marry to be happy, but to fulfil the duties which God imposes on her then.” Marynia, who looked frequently into this little book, had read more than once those lines before that; but real meaning they had taken on for her only of late, in that spiritual process through which she had passed after her return from Italy. It ended in this way, that she was not only reconciled with fate, but at present she did not admit even the thought that she was unhappy. She repeated to herself that it was a happiness different, it is true, from what she had imagined, but none the less real. It is certain that, if God had given her the power of arranging people’s hearts, she would have wished “Stas” to show her, not more honor, but more of that tenderness of which he was capable, and which he had shown in her time to Litka; that his feeling for her might be less sober, and have in it a certain kernel of poetry which her own love had. But, on the other hand, she cherished always somewhere, in some little corner of her heart,—first, the hope that that might come to pass; and, second, she thought in her soul that, even if it did not, then, as matters stood, she ought to thank God for having given her a brave and honest man, whom she could not only love, but esteem. More than once she stopped to compare him with others, and could not find any one to sustain the comparison. Bigiel was worthy, but he had not that dash; Osnovski, with all his goodness, lacked practical knowledge of life and work; Mashko was a person a hundred times lower in everything; Pan Ignas seemed to her rather a genial child than a man,—in a word, from every comparison “Stas” came out always victorious, and the one result was that she felt for him an increasing trust as to vital questions, and loved him more and more. At the same time, while denying herself, subjecting to him her own I, bringing in sacrifice her imaginings and her selfishness, she had the feeling that she was developing more and more in a spiritual sense, that she was perfecting herself, that she was becoming better, that she was not descending to any level, but rising to some height, whence the soul would be nearer to God; and all at once she saw that in such a feeling lies the whole world of happiness. Pan Stanislav at that time was away from home often, therefore she was alone frequently; and, more than once, she reasoned with the great simplicity of an honest woman: “People should strive to be better and better; but if I am not worse than I was, it is well. Were it otherwise, maybe I should be spoiled.” She did not come, however, to the thought that there was more wisdom in this than in all the ideas and talks of Pani Osnovski. It seemed to her natural, too, that she had less charm at that time for “Stas” than formerly. Looking into her mirror, she said to herself: “Well, the eyes do not change, but what a figure! what a face! If I were Stas, I would run out of the house!” And she thought an untruth, for she would not have run out; but it seemed to her that in this way she was increasing “Stas’s” merit. She got comfort, too, from Pani Bigiel, who said that afterward she would be fairer than ever, “just like some young girl.” And, at times, joy and thankfulness rose in her heart, because all is so wisely arranged; and if, at first, one is a little uglier and must suffer a little, not only does all return, but, as a reward, there is a beloved “bobo” which attaches one to life, and creates a new bond between wife and husband. In this way, she had times, not only of peace, but simply of joyfulness, and sometimes she said to Pani Bigiel,—
“Dost thou know what I think?—it is possible to be happy always, only we must fear God.”
“What has one to do with the other?” asked Pani Bigiel, who from her husband had gained a love of clear thinking.
“This,” answered Marynia,—”that we should rest with what He gives us, and not importune Him, because He hasn’t given that which seems to us better.”
Then she added joyously, “We mustn’t tease for happiness.” And both began to laugh.
Frequently, too, in the tenderness almost exaggerated which Pan Stanislav showed his wife, it was clearly evident that he was thinking chiefly of the child; but Marynia did not take that ill of him now. In truth, she never had; but at present she was willing to count it a merit in him, for she thought it the duty of both to care above all for the child, as for their future mutual love. Yielding up daily in this way something of her own care for self, she gained more and more peace, more and more calmness; these feelings were reflected in her eyes, which were more beautiful than ever. Her main anxiety now was that it should be a daughter. She was ready even in this to yield to the will of God, but she feared “Stas” a little; and one day she asked him in jest,—