Whirlpools: A Novel of Modern Poland

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

"He? Even as far as England," answered the doctor.

Gronski and Dolhanski laughed at these words but Ladislaus blushed like a student and said:

"It will be necessary to inform the ladies."

"And to-morrow the general exodus will take place," added Gronski.

And he went to the ladies, who received the news of the decision with evident relief. Both sisters decided to have Pani Krzycki at their residence in Warsaw, but she, desiring to be with her son, would not accept the invitation; and only consented when Gronski announced that he would take Ladislaus to his home and guaranteed that he should not suffer for want of care and comfort. Miss Anney, whose apartments were directly opposite to those of Pani Otocka also offered her rooms for the use of the younger members of the Krzycki family and their female teachers. In the meanwhile the doctor permitted Ladislaus to get up, so that he would not have to start on his journey directly from his bed. In the evening the entire company assembled on the garden veranda. There was missing only Dolhanski who rode off to Gorek, for he had decided to advise Pani Wlocek and Panna Kajetana to remove to the city likewise. Ladislaus, after a considerable loss of blood and a somewhat lengthy confinement in bed, looked pale and miserable, but his countenance had acquired a more subtile expression and actually become handsome. At the present time the ladies were occupied with him, as an invalid, with extraordinary watchfulness. He was a person who attracted general sympathy; therefore, though from time to time his eyes grew dim, he assured his mother that it was well with him, and he really was delighted to breathe the fresh evening air. At times he was overcome by a light drowsiness. Then he closed his eyelids and the conversation hushed, but when he opened them again he saw directed towards himself the eyes of his mother and, illuminated by the setting sun, the young faces of the ladies, which appeared to him simply angelic. He was surrounded by love and friendship; therefore it was well with him. His heart surged with feelings of gratitude, and at the same time with regret that those good Jastrzeb days would soon end. In his soul he cherished a hope that he would not be absent from Jastrzeb long, and promised himself a speedy return, and he promised this with all the strength with which a person craves happiness. Nevertheless, the times were so strange, so uncertain, and so many things might happen which it was impossible to foresee, that involuntarily a fear generated in his heart as to what turn the current of events would take; what the future of the country would be, and what, in a year or two, would become of Jastrzeb, which, indeed, became precious to him for it opened before him the portals, beyond which he beheld the great brightness of happiness. Love, as well as a bird, needs a nest. So Ladislaus plainly could not conceive of himself and the light-haired lady being anywhere else than at Jastrzeb. For this, his heart beat with redoubled force, when glancing at her, he indulged in fancies and imagined that perhaps after a year, or sooner, she will sit upon the same veranda, as the lady of the house and as his wife. Then he turned towards her and asked her with his soul and eyes: "Dost thou guess and perceive my thoughts?" But she, perhaps because she was restrained by the presence of so many witnesses, did not reply to his glances; sitting as if immersed in thought and letting her gaze follow the swallows, which flitted so nimbly above the trees of the garden and the pond. Ladislaus, when he now looked at her was impressed, as if with certain admiration, at the contrast between her full-grown form, powerful arms, and well developed bosom and her small, girlish face. But he saw in all this only a new charm and spell under whose powers there flew at times through his love a burning desire similar indeed to pain and stifling the breath in his breast.

In the meantime the sun sank measurably and began to bathe in the ruddy evening twilight. From the freshly mown lawns came a strong fragrance of the little hay heaps, which were warmed by the daily summer heat. Somehow the air with the approach of night became more bracing, for, from the alder-trees bordering on the pond, came from time to time a cool breath, so weak and light, however, that the leaves on the trees did not stir. The swallows described curves higher and higher above the reddened surface of the pond. In the lofty poplars with trimmed tops a stork clattered in his nest, now stooping with his head backward and then lowering it as if bowing to the setting sun or officiating at the evening vespers.

"I will play something as a farewell to Jastrzeb," Marynia suddenly announced.

"Ah, beloved creature!" said Gronski; "shall I go for the stand and notes?"

"No. I will play something from memory."

And saying this, she handed to Miss Anney an album with views of Jastrzeb, and hurried upstairs. In a short time she returned with her violin. For a time she kept it propped on her shoulder and raising her eyes upwards, considered what she should play. She selected Schumann's "Ich grolle nicht." The overflowing tones filled the quiet of the garden. They began to sing, muse, long, and weep; oscillate, hush, and slumber, and with them the human soul acted in unison. Sorrow became more melancholy, yearning more longing, and love more tender and deeply enamoured. And "the little divinity" continued playing--white in her muslin dress--calm, with pensive eyes lost somewhere in the illimitable distance, immaculate, and as if borne to heaven by music and her own playing. To Gronski it seemed that he had before him some kind of mystic lily, and he began in his soul to say to her, as it were, a litany, in which every word was a worship of the little violinist, because she was playing and she awoke in him a love as destitute of the slightest earthly dross as if she were not a maiden composed of blood and flesh, but in reality some kind of mystic lily.