In Vain

When he entered Helena's lodgings, the door of her chamber was closed; the maid could not tell him what her mistress was doing. He opened the door. Helena was sleeping, leaning against the arm of a large easy-chair. Yosef stood in the doorway and looked at her with a wonderful expression on his face. She did not waken; her rounded breast rose and fell with a light measured movement. There is nothing gentler than the movement of a woman's breast; resting on it, it is possible to be rocked to sleep as in a cradle, or in a boat moved lightly by the waves. Every man has passed through that sleep on his mother's breast. The secret kingdom of sleep is revealed in woman by this movement only, which may be called blessed, so many conditions of human happiness move with it in the regions of rest. The movement of angels' wings must be like it. It lulls to rest everything, from the cry of the infant, to the proud thoughts of the sage. The head of a sage, sleeping on the breast of a woman, is the highest triumph of love. Such thoughts must have passed through Yosef's head, for, looking at the slumbering Helena, he grew milder and milder, just as night passes into dawn; he inclined toward her, and touched her hand lightly with his lips.

Helena quivered, and, opening her eyes widely, smiled like a little child when the velvety kiss of its mother rouses it from sleep. That was the first time that Yosef came to her with a fondling so gentle and delicate; usually he came, if not severe, dignified; but to-day he had come to wipe out and forget at her feet the bitter impressions of the quarrel with Vasilkevich. He was seized gradually by the marvellous power of woman, under whose influence the muddy deposit of the soul sinks to the bottom of oblivion. But he was too greatly agitated not to let some of the bitterness which he felt a few moments earlier press through his words. He raised his head, looked into her eyes, and said, —

"Helena, it seems to me that I love thee very deeply; but the folly of people irritates my personality, challenges me. I should like to find strength in thee. Trust me, Helena, love me!"

"I do not understand thee," replied she.

He took her hand and spoke tenderly, —

"Still, thou shouldst understand me. I flatter myself that I am not second to Potkanski in love for thee, or in labor for thy happiness. But there is a difference between us. He was the son of a magnate, he could give thee his hand at once, surround thee with plenty. I am the son of a handicraftsman, I must labor long yet over thy happiness and my own. I will not desert thee now, but I do not wish that thou as my wife shouldst touch the cold realities of poverty, from which he disaccustomed thee. But I need thy love and thy confidence. Speak, Helena."

Helena said nothing; but she approached Yosef, and, putting her head on his breast, raised on him eyes full of childlike confidence.

"This is my answer, my good Helenko," said Yosef; and with a long kiss he joined her lips to his.

"This may be egotism on my part," continued he, "but forgive me. I did not win thee by service or suffering, I have done nothing whatever for thee. The vision of wealth with which Potkanski surrounded thee on the one hand, the devotion of Gustav on the other, would stand forever between us. Let me deserve thee, Helena. I have energy and strength sufficient, I will not deceive thee."

Perhaps it seemed to Yosef that he was speaking sincerely; but how much offended vanity there was in his words each person may divine easily after casting an eye on the conditions in which Helena had lived up to that time. If he had asked for her hand immediately, those conditions would have changed very little, and certainly not for the worse, since in that case, sharing his lodgings with her, he would have rid himself of Augustinovich and all the outlays connected with that man. On the other hand, it is proper to acknowledge that he kept the word given Gustav with complete conscientiousness. Nothing had changed with reference to Helena. Yosef would have taken her at that time in the same conditions in which she had been for two years past.

Beyond doubt one half was true in what he had told her of his ambition; more meaning still was there in his wish to throw down the gauntlet to opponents; but perhaps the weightiest reason of all why he did not marry Helena was found in the relations, of great intimacy between them of people not united by bonds which give more than the right to fondling and kisses. The cup was half drunk. Legalization would lessen the charm of forbidden fruit, would decrease sweetness already tasted, more than it would promise new.

It will appear that Augustinovich was right in some degree.

Yosef perhaps did not acknowledge to himself that his reason for not desiring to change those relations was because he lived agreeably in them.

Did he not love Helena, then?

He loved her; otherwise he would not have visited her daily, he would not have kissed her lips, her forehead, her hands; but let us remember that this met just half the desires which in other conditions we satisfy through the way of the altar. The idea of a betrothed is that of a woman disrobed behind a thin veil, we go to the altar to remove the veil; when the veil disappears a part of the charm is lost. Honest human nature recompenses the loss by the idea of attachment; when attachment fails, habit, a thing still less enticing, appears in the place of it.

But life rolls on.

Yosef had touched the veil; two ways led to its removal, – one the way of the altar; the other a momentary oblivion of self, a victory of passion over honor, – a less honest, in fact a dishonest, way, but short and alluring.

The first was difficult; to the second every moment was a temptation, every kiss an incitement. To the first the unfortunate guardianship over Helena disinclined him; selfishness counselled the second. But the first was honorable, the second was not.

Yosef stood at the parting of the roads.

It might be said, indeed, that an honest man should not hesitate; but we may also inquire how an honest man is to act when the powers of temptation are absolutely greater than his powers of honesty.

Helena loved Yosef; she answered nervously to his kisses. She was unable to turn the balance consciously; unconsciously she added to the weight of that defect which in Yosef's soul weighed against honesty and honor.

How many great and small battles, torments and terrors, that magic little word love brings with it sometimes! A whole rabble of wishes with outbreak and uproar, armed with goads and bells, a rabble capricious, violent, flies up from every direction, plays with the human heart as with a ball, hurls it to the lofty stars, or tramples it on the earth. Then, O man, all the dens of thy soul are thrown open. Thou hadst not even dreamed of what dwelt in them. All the seven deadly sins, and all the virtues of which the catechism makes mention, are fighting each other to win thee; thou seest thyself to be different from what thou hadst supposed up to that time; thou ceasest to trust thyself, suspectest thyself at every step, losest control of thyself. Passions rise up then like flames from the depth of thy being, and like hidden currents in a swamp, advance, creep, circle about, flow up, and then vanish.

The night of thy soul is rent by the flame of passions. In their colors thy own interior is shown to thee. Thou performest the rôles both of actor and audience. Thou art like a boat, without a rudder in billows of fire. Then, on a sudden, one thunderbolt finishes everything; the flames vanish like fireworks, and thou art dreaming, like Dante, of heaven and hell.

It is gloomy when after the awakening there is no one to give back the moments through which thou hast suffered. Calmness returns, but happiness returns not. An amputated arm gives no pain, but it does not exist.

It may be that Augustinovich had some truth on his side, when he said that it was not worth while to give life for a single feeling. Perhaps a man should not break himself against the narrow walls of personal whims and desires.

Above and around us is a broad world; waves are roaring there which have been raised by the whole of humanity. Is it not better to weigh anchor and push one's ship forth from the shore, quiet the weeping heart, and sail out into a future, without happiness but with labor, without faith but with thought?

It is certain that till the time of such a fiery test comes it is not possible to speak of the nobility of the metal out of which the soul of a given man has been cast. We can offer no guarantees, therefore, for the future acts of Yosef. He passed through various temptations, we know that; we guarantee that he fought with them according to his power; but how it ended, whether he or they proved the stronger, will be told later on.

CHAPTER X

On reaching home Yosef met the old count and his daughter on the steps at the door. The young lady cast a glance of inquiry on him, and when she had gone a couple of steps, she looked around and smiled. Yosef noticed that she was very shapely, and with genuine satisfaction he heard her say to her father, "That is the young doctor, papa, who lives in the rooms under ours." It is true that he lacked little of finishing his course at the University; still he was glad that they considered him a doctor already.

Yosef's lodgings were open; the house guard was putting them to rights. From him Yosef learned details of the old count and his daughter. This man did not like either of them; he emphasized their stinginess, though he imagined that they must be very poor, because they did not pay room rent very regularly. "The young lady is haughty," said he; "all day she does nothing but play and sing. It is hard for her without a husband, but what is to be done?" He did not advise Yosef to make their acquaintance.

"How proud these people are," said he; "but in their pockets, dear lord, there is emptiness."

"And is the old countess long dead?" inquired Yosef.

"About three years. They have been rich, I suppose, but he lost his property in wheat which, as they say, he had to furnish in company with others at Odessa. That business impoverished many people. The old countess was better than others of her family. She was an honorable lady, but she fell to grieving, and died. They have lived here five years."

"Do they know many people?"

"It must be that they do not, for I have not seen any one visit them."

Yosef, while waiting for Augustinovich, lay down on the bed, and when he commanded to bring him a glass of tea, he fell asleep quickly. When he woke up, he felt a trifle ill. Augustinovich had not come yet, though it was quite dark. He arrived at last in perfect humor.

The lady with whom he had become acquainted, Pani Visberg, had a daughter Malinka. Augustinovich examined them both by auscultation. He prescribed dancing for the daughter and horseback riding for the mother. Besides, he promised to visit them and to bring Yosef.

"The old lady said that the summons to the count was ready, which does not concern me," said Augustinovich. "She has even visited the count, but found only the countess, who pleased her. The countess was much frightened when she learned the object of the old lady's visit. I asked Pani Visberg why she claimed a miserable two thousand when she represented herself as the wife of a Crœsus. She answered that her late husband's name was Cleophas, not Crœsus. 'If it were mine,' said she, 'I surely would not annoy them, but all that money belongs to my child.' Then I pressed the hand of that child under the table, with real feeling. I was simply moved – word of honor, I was moved. When going, I kissed the old lady's hand. The young lady's name is Malinka – a pretty name, Malinka, though the point is not in this, whether her name is pretty or ugly – Why art thou so pale, Yosef?"

"I am not entirely well, and I cannot sleep. I fell asleep while waiting for thee. Give me a glass of tea."

Augustinovich poured out the tea, and lighting his pipe lay on the bed. Yosef pushed an armchair up to the bureau, and taking a pen began to write.

He soon stopped, however. Thoughts crowded into his head; he leaned back in the chair and gave them free course. Another man would have dreamed. Yosef collected and summed up his own past; he thought over the conditions in which he was then, he cast up the future. Regarding this future, it was difficult for him to remain in the rôle of a cool reasoner. The words "That is the young doctor, papa," came to his memory involuntarily. To be a doctor and to some extent a high-priest of science; to rule on one side by reason, on the other by significance, property, reputation, – Yosef had not become indifferent yet to reputation, – to attract glances, rouse laughter, win hearts – Here he remembered Helena. In the region of feeling he was not free now to choose. He felt bound; still he would like to see eyes turning to him, and the smile of the maiden's lips, and hear the words so prettily whispered, "That is the young doctor." For the first time he could not free himself of the thought that Helena might be a hindrance to his campaign of advancement. He determined to settle with that thought. Her education was not in the way, she was educated; she was twenty-one years of age, he twenty-four – the difference, though too small, did not constitute a hindrance. What reasons could he have to fear that Helena might be a weight on him some time? Conscience declared that the first cause was his own vanity. He knew women little, and he wanted to know them much and to rule them. But there were other considerations which Yosef did not admit. He loved too little. In his soul lay enormous capitals of feeling; he had barely offered a small part of them in the name of Helena. He bore within him a dim consciousness of his powers; that foreboding deprived him of rest. He wanted to reach the foundation of things, but it was not easy for even such a self-conscious head as Yosef's to reach final results.

Besides, he did not know himself whether possible future triumphs were equal in value to Helena. To have near him for all future time a woman so charming and loving was the same as to seize in its flight a winged dream of happiness shooting by, but if besides he knew how many of those coming triumphs would be of tangible value, how many would deceive him, how many faces there were before him, he would not hesitate in the choice. But he had not met deceit yet face to face.

Such meditations wearied Yosef. The lamp in the room grew dim, he began to doze. Some sudden knocking above roused him again. "They are not sleeping up there, either," thought he. He remembered the countess and her gladsome smile. "How lightly and calmly such a girl must sleep! But there is some truth in this, that girls are like birds. A man toils and labors and meditates, and they – But that one upstairs is quite a pretty bird. I should like to see her asleep. But it is late now, half-past one, and I – What is that?" He sprang quickly to his feet.

A violent pulling at the bell brought him to his senses perfectly. He opened the door, and raising the lamp saw the countess before him. She was as pale as a corpse; she held a candle in one hand, with the other she protected the flame of it. She wore a cap, and a dressing-gown through which her neck and bosom were evident.

"Pan Doctor!" cried she, "my father is dying!"

Yosef, without saying a word, seized his medicine case, and enjoining on Augustinovich to hurry upstairs with all speed, he ran himself after her. In the first chamber was the small bed of the countess, with the blanket thrown aside, and left just a moment before; in the next room lay the count. He was breathing or rather rattling loudly, for he was unconscious; there was bloody foam on his lips, and his face was livid.

In a moment Augustinovich ran in, uncombed and hardly dressed. Both occupied themselves with the sick man without regard to the young girl, who had knelt at the foot of the bed, and was nearly unconscious.

All at once Yosef and Augustinovich looked each other in the eyes; both had seen that there was not the least hope.

"O my God! my God! Call in some one else, perhaps," burst out the countess, in tears.

"Run for Skotnitski," cried Yosef.

Augustinovich ran, although he felt certain that on returning with the doctor he would not find the count among the living.

Meanwhile Yosef, with all energy and presence of mind, worked at the patient. He bled him; then, looking at the clock, declared that the attack was over.

"Thank God! There is hope then?" cried the countess.

"The attack is over!" repeated Yosef.

Meanwhile Augustinovich came with the doctor.

Doctor Skotnitski declared that the sick man was saved for that time, but without ceremony he added that in case of a second attack death would ensue unfailingly. He commanded to watch the sick man and not leave him for an instant. Our friends sat all night at his bedside.

Next morning early the count regained consciousness and asked for a priest. Augustinovich had to go for one. He brought some parish priest or chaplain, who read the usual prayers and litany, then heard the sick man's confession, gave him communion, and anointed him with holy oil.

For a number of hours the count was conscious; he spoke with Yosef, blessed his daughter, spoke of his will, in a word, did everything which is usual when people are dying in a Christian and honest way of going from this world to the other. The whole day passed in these ceremonies. When dusk came Yosef persuaded the countess to take some rest; for the poor girl, though of a firm constitution, was barely able to stand on her feet from watching and suffering.

She resisted long, and agreed only when he almost commanded her to do so. When leaving the room she gave her hand, thanking him for his care of her father. Yosef looked at her more carefully then. She might have been twenty, perhaps even less, for her well-developed form caused one to consider her older than she was really. She had a large but agreeable mouth, blue, clever eyes, and dark hair. In general, her face was uncommonly sympathetic. She had a beautiful forehead shaded with hair; the expression of her face, and her movements indicated a developed aristocratic type of beauty. Moreover, she had very small hands.

The count fell asleep an hour after she had gone out. Yosef and Augustinovich sat by a shaded lamp; both were wearied and thoughtful. Augustinovich spoke first in a low voice, —

"Tell me what will become of the countess when he – " He indicated with his head the sick man, and closing his eyes drew a finger along his throat.

"I am thinking of that myself," replied Yosef. "Perhaps some one of the family may be found."

"But if he is not found?"

"It will be necessary to talk with her. They are poor, evidently; the guard told me that their rent is not paid yet. But it cannot be that they have no blood relatives somewhere, or at least acquaintances."

"Well, in every case speak of this later," said Augustinovich, who did not like to dwell long on one subject.

"Wait," interrupted Yosef; "at least one idea comes to my head. So far no one has been here, and it is impossible that that poor girl" – he indicated with his eyes the room where the countess was sleeping – "impossible for that poor girl to stay here alone after his death. Tell me, is thy acquaintance, Pani Visberg, a pious woman?"

"As pious as a chalice cover!"

"Honest, simple?"

"In an unheard-of degree: but what connection has that with the countess?"

"I wish to place the countess in her care."

"But the lawsuit?"

"Just because of that."

Here the sick man moved suddenly. Yosef looked at him quickly, then whispered, —

"One instalment of rent stands in my way, but this and that may be arranged, perhaps something can be done after his death."

"Oi, rent, rent!" whispered Augustinovich. "To keep us awake I must tell thee a little tale. I have never paid rent, I was enraged whenever rent was even mentioned, and I never could accustom any house-owner to refuse taking it. At last I succeeded with one. He was an old little fellow, and stupid as the ears of Midas. Well, once I was sitting in a small garden which belonged to him, and because the season was summer and the time night, for want of a better occupation I was counting the stars in the sky. I was dreaming somewhat; a starry night, as thou knowest, brings a dreamy state of mind. Thereupon that ass came to me and spoke absurdly. He simply wanted me to pay him. I rose from my place, and outlining in solemnity with my hand a bow between the east and the west, I asked mysteriously, —

"'Dost see this immensity and those millions of the lights of God?'

"'I see,' answered he, frightened somewhat by the tone of my inquiry; 'but – '

"'Silence!' said I, in an imperious voice. And removing my hat I raised my eyes, and looking at the astonished man I thundered, —

"'Useless dust! compare thy five rubles – '"

On a sudden a suppressed groan interrupted Augustinovich. The count had become livid, he was twisted up, the fingers of his hands were balled into lumps; the second attack had come evidently.

At that moment Yosef rushed to the sick man and straightened his arm almost by force.

"Ys! – Bleed him!" said he in a low voice.

There was silence. By a wonderful chance the lamp at that moment grew darker. From instant to instant was heard the quick low voice of Yosef, —

"His pulse? Water!"

"He is stifling," whispered Augustinovich.

Both held the breath in their breasts; the dull sound of the lance was heard. The steel sank in the old man's flesh, but blood did not come.

"This is the end! All is useless!" said Yosef, drawing a deep breath.

Drops of sweat came out on his forehead.

"He lived – he lived till he died," said Augustinovich, with the most indifferent mien in the world. "We have done our part, now to sleep."

CHAPTER XI

The count died really, and was buried according to Christian ceremonial. After his death Yosef paid a visit to the old lady. It was a question of securing guardianship for the countess, since no one of the family had come forward.

The count had left very scanty means of maintenance, and even if he had left more the countess was too young to manage a house alone.

Because of the lofty piety and exceeding delicacy of conscience of Pani Visberg, it was not difficult for Yosef to arrange the business he had mentioned. He persuaded her that she had killed the count by her lawsuit, and therefore she was bound to give protection to the daughter of her victim. The lady was greatly terrified at the executioners of hell, with whom Yosef threatened her, and on the other hand she judged that the companionship of the countess, who was of society and highly educated as Yosef declared, would not be without profit to Malinka.

Pani Visberg was an honorable woman in the full sense of the word; she had not much wit, it is true, and still less acquaintance with society. The best proof of this was that she considered Augustinovich the acme of elegance, polish, and good tone. Yosef she feared a little, from the time of his first visit. But she was content in soul that such distinguished young men, as she said, were inclined to her lowly threshold.

Malinka, who in many regards resembled her mother, was seriously smitten with Augustinovich. She had induced the old lady to take a permanent residence in Kieff; for that matter Pani Visberg had come to the city somewhat with that intent. She wished to show her daughter to the world, for Malinka was nineteen years of age, and during those nineteen years she had been once in Kieff, once in Jitomir, and had sat out the rest of the time at home. Fortune permitted a residence in the city. The late Pan Visberg had been in his day an official in the customhouse, though in a funeral speech over his grave these words had been uttered: "Sleep, Cleophas Visberg! for during long ages the nations (all Europe) will admire thy integrity and stern rectitude." We say Cleophas Visberg left to his wife, inconsolable in her sorrow, about nine times one hundred thousand zlotys, and he would have left more if inexorable Fate had not cut short his days. He entered the kingdom of shadows more sated with years than with income.

But this income fell to good hands, for both ladies had excellent hearts. They helped widows and orphans; they paid their servants, male and female, regularly; they paid tithes to their church faithfully; in a word, they performed all Christian deeds which concern soul and body.