Children of the Soil. Henryk Sienkiewicz

but under his closed eyelids he saw yet the calm forehead of Panna Plavitski, the shadow over her mouth, and her hands pouring out the tea. Then, when sleep became overpowering, it seemed to him as though he were holding those hands in his own and drawing her toward him, and she was pulling back and turning her head aside, as if to escape a kiss. In the morning he woke late, and remembering Panna Plavitski, thought, “Ah, she will look like that!”

CHAPTER II.

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      He was roused by the servant, who brought coffee and took his clothes to be brushed. When the servant brought them back, Pan Stanislav asked if it were not the custom of the house to meet in the dining-room for coffee.

      “No,” answered the servant; “because the young lady rises early, and the old gentleman sleeps late.”

      “And has the young lady risen?”

      “The young lady is at church.”

      “True, to-day is Sunday. But does not the young lady go to church with the old gentleman?”

      “No; the old gentleman goes to high Mass, and then goes to visit the canon, so the young lady prefers early Mass.”

      “What do they do here on Sunday?”

      “They sit at home; Pan Gantovski comes to dinner.”

      Pan Stanislav knew this Gantovski as a small boy. In those times they nicknamed him “Little Bear,” for he was a thick little fellow, awkward and surly. The servant explained that Pan Gantovski’s father had died about five years before, and that the young man was managing his estate in the neighboring Yalbrykov.

      “And does he come here every Sunday?”

      “Sometimes he comes on a week day in the evening.”

      “A rival!” thought Pan Stanislav. After a while he inquired,—

      “Has the old gentleman risen?”

      “It must be that he has rung the bell, for Yozef has gone to him.”

      “Who is Yozef?”

      “The valet.”

      “And who art thou?”

      “I am his assistant.”

      “Go and inquire when it will be possible to see the old gentleman.”

      The servant went out and returned soon.

      “The old gentleman sends to say that when he dresses he will beg you to come.”

      “Very well.”

      The servant went out; Pan Stanislav remained alone and waited, or rather was bored, a good while. Patience began to fail him at last; and he was about to stroll to the garden, when Yozef came with the announcement that the old gentleman begged him to come.

      Yozef conducted him then to a chamber at the other end of the house. Pan Stanislav entered, and at the first moment did not recognize Pan Plavitski. He remembered him as a person in the bloom of life and very good-looking; now an old man stood before him, with a face as wrinkled as a baked apple,—a face to which small blackened mustaches strove in vain to lend the appearance of youth. Hair as black as the mustaches, and parted low at the side of the head, indicated also pretensions as yet unextinguished.

      But Plavitski opened his arms: “Stas! how art thou, dear boy? Come hither!” And, pointing to his white shirt, he embraced the head of Pan Stanislav, and pressed it to his bosom, which moved with quick breathing.

      The embrace continued a long time, and for Pan Stanislav, much too long. Plavitski said at last,—

      “Let me look at thee, Anna, drop for drop! My poor beloved Anna!” and Plavitski sobbed; then he wiped with his heart finger[1] his right eyelid, on which, however, there was not a tear, and repeated,—

      “As like Anna as one drop is like another! Thy mother was always for me the best and the most loving relative.”

      Pan Stanislav stood before him confused, also somewhat stunned by a reception such as he had not expected, and by the odor of wax, powder, and various perfumes, which came from the face, mustaches, and shirt of the old man.

      “How is my dear uncle?” asked he at last, judging that this title, which moreover he had given in years of childhood to Plavitski, would answer best to the solemn manner of his reception.

      “How am I?” repeated Plavitski. “Not long for me now, not long! But just for this reason I greet thee in my house with the greater affection,—I greet thee as a father. And if the blessing of a man standing over the grave, and who at the same time is the eldest member of the family, has in thy eyes any value, I give it thee.”

      And seizing Pan Stanislav’s head a second time, he kissed it and blessed him. The young man changed still more, and constraint was expressed on his face. His mother was a relative and friend of Plavitski’s first wife: to Plavitski himself no affectionate feelings had ever attracted her, so far as he could remember; hence the solemnity of the reception, to which he was forced to yield, was immensely disagreeable to him. Pan Stanislav had not the least family feeling for Plavitski. “This monkey,” thought he, “is blessing me instead of talking money;” and he was seized by a certain indignation, which might help him to explain matters clearly.

      “Now sit down, dear boy,” said Plavitski, “and be as if in thy own house.”

      Pan Stanislav took a seat, and began, “Dear uncle, for me it is very pleasant to visit uncle. I should have done so surely, even without business; but uncle knows that I have come also on that affair which my mother—”

      Here the old man laid his hand on Pan Stanislav’s knee suddenly. “But hast thou drunk coffee?” asked he.

      “I have,” answered Pan Stanislav, driven from his track.

      “Marynia goes to church early. I beg pardon, too, that I have not given thee my room; but I am old, I am accustomed to sleep here. This is my nest.” Then, with a circular sweep of the hand, he directed attention to the chamber.

      Unconsciously Pan Stanislav let his eyes follow the motion of the hand. On a time this chamber had been to him a ceaseless temptation, for in it had hung the arms of Plavitski. The only change in it was the wall, which in the old time was rose-colored, and represented, on an endless number of squares, young shepherdesses, dressed à la Watteau, and catching fish with hooks. At the window stood a toilet-table with a white cover, and a mirror in a silver frame. On the table was a multitude of little pots, vials, boxes, brushes, combs, nail files, etc. At one side, in the corner, was a table with pipes and pipe-stems with amber mouth-pieces; on the wall, above the sofa, was the head of a wild boar, and under it two double-barrelled guns, a hunting-bag, horns, and, in general, the weapons of hunting; in the depth was a table with papers, open shelves with a certain number of books. Everywhere the place was full of old furniture more or less needed and ornamental, but indicating that the occupant of the chamber was the centre around which everything turned in that house, and that he cared greatly for himself. In one word, it was the chamber of an old single man,—an egotist full of petty anxiety for his personal comfort, and full of pretensions. Pan Stanislav did not need long reflection to divine that Plavitski would not give up his chamber for anything, nor to any man.

      But the hospitable host inquired further, “Was it comfortable enough for thee? How didst thou spend the night?”

      “Perfectly; I rose late.”

      “But thou wilt stay a week or so with me?”

      Pan Stanislav, who was very impulsive, sprang up from his chair.

      “Doesn’t uncle know that I have business in Warsaw, and a partner, who at present is doing all our work alone? I must go at the earliest; and to-day I should like