In Vain

CHAPTER VIII

A couple of months had passed, winter had passed, spring had passed, summer had come, and those relations had not changed.

Yosef loved Helena, she loved him, and their life flowed on in mutual forgetfulness of the future. But there was a shadow between them, a shadow thrown by chance. One summer day the widow tied under her chin the ribbons of a dainty blue hat, and covering her shoulders with a cape, she took Yosef's arm and they went out to walk.

The sun was shining, there was a little dust in the air, and the heat made itself felt on all faces, though the hour was about six in the afternoon. Multitudes of people were on the streets; many acquaintances greeted Yosef with a friendly nod; some, and among them strangers, looked around at our couple. Really they were a beautiful couple. Yosef had grown, he had become manly; his chin and the sides of his face were covered now by a splendid, ruddy growth, and his face had a serious expression, with a certain tinge of pride. The widow looked exactly like a young betrothed. The wind blew apart the ribbons of her dainty hat, played with her white dress, and bearing apart the cape, showed her slender form. Leaning on Yosef's arm gracefully, she delighted in him and the sun and the air, and was as if born into the world a second time. Yosef looked more at her than at the people around. We will not undertake to repeat the words in that twittering of lovers, without meaning for others, full of charm for themselves. But there was more serious conversation; she, for example, begged him to take her to Potkanski's grave.

"In the summer," said she, "there is much shade even in the cemetery. And it is so long since I was there; still I cannot forget him. Thou takest his place, Yosef, but permit me to pray for him sometimes."

It was all one to Yosef for whom or for what Helena prayed; so he answered with an indulgent smile, —

"Very well, remember thy dead; but love the living," added he, inclining his head toward her face.

A slight pressing of Yosef's arm to her breast was Helena's answer. She looked him in the eyes, then blushed like a girl.

Yosef covered with his palm the little hand resting on his arm, and – was perfectly happy.

They went to the cemetery, and on the way met Augustinovich; he was smoking a cigar and walking with two ladies, a mother and a daughter. Augustinovich had the daughter on his arm, the mother hurried on a little at one side; plumpness and finally the heat hindered her haste somewhat.

Augustinovich was eloquent evidently, for the young lady restrained her laughter at moments. While passing Yosef he blinked with one eye; this was to signify that he was content with the world and the order of the earth at that moment.

Yosef asked Helena about Augustinovich.

"I know him, though I do not know his name. When Kazimir died, I saw him near me, then he disappeared somehow from my eyes."

"He is the most gifted scapegrace whom I know," added Yosef. "But he told me that he was in love with my lady."

"Why tell me that?"

"Without an object, but it is a wonder how all are attracted to thee."

"My dear Yosef, that is the one thing that I brought to the world with me. Thou wilt not believe how sadly the years of my childhood passed. Thou knowest not my history. I was reared in a wealthy family, where the master of the house treated me as his own daughter. After his death I was tormented in that house with every rudeness, till at last I fled and came to Kieff, where an old and very kind man took me into his care. He called me Helusiu always, and petted me as if I had been his own daughter. But afterward he too died, without leaving me means of living. Then I made the acquaintance of Kazimir. Thou wilt wonder how I went to a students' club? I lacked little of dying from shame, I assure thee, when I entered the first time; but wilt thou believe? I was hungry. I had put nothing in my mouth for two days. I was chilled through, I knew not what I was doing, and what it would lead to.

"Then Kazimir approached me. Oh! he did not please me that time. He laughed and was glad, but it grew dark in my eyes. He asked at last if I would go with him. I answered 'Yes.' On the road he put a warm fur around me, for I was shivering from cold, and finally he took me to his lodgings. There, when warmth had restored presence of mind to me, I saw where I was, and I wept from disgrace and shame. For, seest thou, I was alone in the lodgings of a man, I was in his power. He seemed to be astonished at my weeping; then he was silent and sat near me, and when again I looked at him he had tears in his eyes, and was different entirely. He kissed my hands and begged me to calm myself.

"I had to tell him everything, everything. He promised to think of me as a sister. How good he was, was he not? From that moment of knowing him I knew no more of want. At parting he kissed my hand again. I wished to kiss his, my heart was straitened, I pressed it with my hands and wept real tears. Oh! how I loved him then! how I loved him!"

Helena raised her eyes, in those eyes gleamed great tears of gratitude. She was as beautiful as if inspired. Yosef's expression, however, was severe; his brows had come together on his forehead. The thought that he owed that woman's love to empty chance, to a vain resemblance, covered his face with a gloomy shadow.

Potkanski had gone to her by another road. That comparison pained Yosef. He recalled Augustinovich's words, and conducted Helena farther in silence.

They reached the cemetery. Among the trees were white crosses, stones, and tombs. The city of the dead in the shade of green leaves slept in silent dignity. A number of persons were strolling among the crosses; among the branches a bird from time to time sang half sadly, half charmingly. The figure of the cemetery guard pushed past at intervals.

Helena soon found Potkanski's grave. It was a large mound surrounded by an iron railing; at the foot of the mound was a small grass-covered hillock. Under these lay Potkanski with Helena's child. A number of pots with flowers adorned the graves, at the sides grew reseda; in general, the grave kept neatly and even with ornament indicated a careful hand.

Yosef called the guard to open the railing. Helena knelt there with prayer on her lips and tears in her eyes.

"Who keeps this grave?" asked Yosef of the guard.

"This lady came; a gentleman with long hair came also, but now he comes no longer. He always paid for the flowers, and he also gave command to erect the iron grating."

"That gentleman is here now – last year they buried him," answered Yosef.

The guard nodded as if to say, "And thou too wilt dwell here."

"But this I beg to tell the gentlemen. In the city out there are trouble and suffering, but when any one comes here he lies peacefully. I think often to myself: 'Will the Lord God torture souls in that other world also? Is it little that man suffers here?'"

After a time Helena finished praying. Yosef gave her his arm again. Yosef was silent; evidently something was weighing on his heart. By design or by chance he led Helena along a path different from the first one. All at once, when near the gate, he pointed to one of the graves, and said in a kind of cold voice, —

"See, Helena, that man there loved thee during his life more than Potkanski, and still thou hast not mentioned him."

The day was inclining. Helena cast her eye on the object which Yosef had indicated. At the grave stood a black wooden cross, and on it were written in white the words: "Gustav – died year – day."

The evening rays painted the inscription as it were in letters of blood.

"Let us go from here; it is getting dark," whispered Helena, nestling her head up to Yosef's shoulder.

When they entered the city, darkness was beginning in earnest, but a clear night was coming. A great ruddy moon was rolling up from beyond the Dnieper. In the dense alleys of the police garden steps were heard here and there, from an open window in an adjoining pavilion came the tones of a piano; a youthful, feeble voice was singing a song of Schubert, the tones quivered in the warm air; far, far out on the steppe some one was sounding the horn of a post-wagon.

"A beautiful night," said Helena, in a low voice. "Why art thou gloomy, Yosef?"

"Let us sit a little," said he. "I am tired."

They sat there, and leaning shoulder to shoulder were both somewhat pensive. They were roused on a sudden from meditation by a youthful, resonant voice, which said, —

"True, Karol! The greatest happiness is the genuine love of a woman, if it is an echo to the voice of a real manly soul."

Two young people arm in arm passed slowly near the bench on which Yosef and Helena were sitting.

"Good evening!" said both, removing their hats.

They were Vasilkevich and Karol Karvovski.

When Yosef parted with the widow that evening, he held her hand to his lips for a long time, and went home late, greatly agitated.

CHAPTER IX

But next day Yosef after a perfect sleep was quite calm; he even laughed at the previous day and at his own alarms and fears.

"Many pretty phrases are uttered," said he to himself, "but are they reality? Only a fool regrets happiness. Gustav is the best proof of this. What good is feeling, though the strongest, though the most manly, when purchased at the cost of life? Besides, I am little fitted for tragedy. I love Helena, and she me. What is that to any one? Augustinovich, rise, O scapegrace! tell me what hundred-tongued Satan has turned the head of some brown parasol by means of thee?"

"Didst thou see her face?" inquired Augustinovich, forcing himself to sigh.

"I did, and by Jove, it was like a freshly plucked radish – the mother looked like a bowl of sour milk. Well, art thou in love, old man?"

"Be quiet! those are very rich ladies."

"Both? How much has the daughter?"

"Who has counted such a treasure – but she will be richer yet."

"Richer – by a husband and children?"

"No; but the mother has come on a lawsuit, and dost know whom she is suing? Our neighbor the count owes her several thousand zlotys."

"From whom dost thou know all this? Art long acquainted with the ladies?"

"Only since yesterday. I became acquainted by chance: they inquired for the street – whither? I did not mind, 'pon my honor, but I told them that the weather was very beautiful, and asked if they would not walk with me. The old lady loves conversation dearly. I learned immediately who they were, and why they had come to the city. She asked me if I knew the count. I answered that I visit him daily, and that I would use my influence on the old man to pay what he owes her. I said also that I was a doctor of medicine, theology, and many other sciences and arts; that I have an immense practice in Kieff. Then the mother began to tell into my ear her troubles and the troubles of her daughter. I promised to visit them and to examine their case carefully."

"Of course. What did the daughter say to that?"

"She hung out the red flag on her face, but the mother scolded her for doing so, called on all the saints, and assured me of the unanimous assistance of those saints at the day of general judgment. Thou seest what I have won."

"Thou art an innocent."

"I shall visit them to-day."

"Whom? all the saints?"

"No, my new acquaintances. I will advise them both to marry."

"The youngest thee?"

"What dost thou wish, my dear? A man grows old; moreover, I think that we shall greet thee soon with a hairy palm."

"I have begged thee not to interfere between me and Helena."

"Very well. I will say only that Pani Helena is beautiful."

"Surely!" answered Yosef, with ill-concealed pleasure.

At that moment Vasilkevich appeared.

"I have run in a moment," said he. "Karol is waiting downstairs for me; we are going to the country together. Yosef, I have business with thee. Briefly, I did not wish to mix in thy love affairs, notwithstanding Augustinovich's prayers, but this is dragging on too long. Tell me, what dost thou think of doing with the widow?"

Yosef had a pipe in his hand; this he hurled violently into the corner of the room; then he sat down and looked Vasilkevich in the eyes.

"Question for question," said he. "Tell me, what hast thou to do with the matter?"

Vasilkevich frowned, became somewhat angry; still he answered calmly, —

"I ask as one comrade may ask another. Helena is not of that class of women who love one day but not the day following. Besides, through the memory of Potkanski each of his colleagues has the right to expect an answer to such a question."

Yosef rose; in his eyes blazes of anger were flashing.

"But if I give no answer, then what?" cried he.

Vasilkevich burst out in his turn, —

"Then thou thinkest, my bird, that we are going to let thee dupe this poor woman, and not ask what thy meaning is? Satan take thee! Thou must answer to us for the honor of Potkanski's widow. I am not the only man who will inquire about it."

They stood some time face to face, eye to eye, each with a storm on his forehead, as if testing each other. Finally Yosef, though trembling with anger, was the first to regain self-mastery.

"Hear me, Vasilkevich," said he. "If some other man had done this, I should have thrown him out of doors. I am not of those who let themselves be regulated, and I do not understand why thou and others mix in affairs not your own. In every case this offends me. I will answer, therefore, thee and all who wish to mention the honor of Helena, that I will give account of that honor only to myself, that I shall not permit any man to meddle with my acts, and that thou and thine are committing a brutal, and for Helena a harmful stupidity, in no way to be explained by your taking her part. I have done speaking and I am going out, leaving thee time to meditate over what thou hast done."

Vasilkevich remained with Augustinovich.

"Well? Did not he give thee a head-washing?" inquired the latter.

"He did."

"Hei! wilt thou say, then, that he gave thee a head-washing?"

"He did."

"Thou hast acted stupidly; with him mildness was needed – that is a headstrong fellow."

Yosef went straight to Helena. He was excited in the highest degree; he could not explain Vasilkevich's act, but he felt that that third hand, interfering between him and Helena, pushed them apart instead of bringing them nearer.

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 ki