The Argonauts Part 28

"Not permitted!" cried Irene, and she asked:

"Who is there?"

There was no answer, but the latch moved again, though in a timid, and, as it were, imploring manner.

"You cannot come in," repeated Irene.

There was a rustle against the sofa outside, a light and quick step moved away.

"Cara!" whispered Malvina.

"For her as well as for ourselves there is need to end this position at the earliest," said Irene, with a sudden frown.

It was Cara; she had left the door of her mother's room with drooping head, with a great frown on her forehead, and no thought for the little dog, tugging at her skirt as usual. Half an hour before, when Maryan and Miss Mary had risen from chess, she rose, too, pushed her hand under her brother's arm and said:

"I have something to say to you."

Her seriousness was so evident that Maryan answered, with a smile:

"If your speech is to be as solemn as your face is we shall have little joy. What have you to tell me?"

Without answering she led him through the blue drawing-room to the next one more faintly lighted. Here she halted, looked around, and, seeing only inanimate objects, asked:

"Why have you quarrelled with father?"

This question in her mouth astonished him, and he asked in turn:

"Why do you wish this information? You might dream of the role of peacemaker."

Without a shade of laughter, with forehead somewhat wrinkled beneath bright curls of hair, she repeated the question:

"Why have you quarrelled with father? Do you not love him? Why can you not love him? For me, father is an ideal! He is so wise, n.o.ble, great. When he was so long away I dreamed about him, wanted his return, imagined how happy we should all be when he came. But that is not the case in any way. All in the house seem to be at variance, angry, disappointed--I see this well, but I cannot understand why. Why? why is it?"

Maryan fixed his eyes on her attentively and laughed, but his laugh was not sincere, it was forced.

"Curiosity," said he, "is the first step toward h.e.l.l, and the surest road to premature age. You will grow old before your time, little one."

"This is not curiosity!" interrupted Cara. "There is some kind of trouble here, I know not what it is; but something so unpleasant and--dreadful. Sometimes it seems to me that someone will die, or that something will vanish, and that, in general, something awfully bad will happen to somebody--I--know not what it is, but it is very bad. I know not what it is, but it is something--it is something--"

Maryan frowned and interrupted her:

"Since you know not what it is, nor to whom it will happen, nor how, what do you ask me for? Am I a master of the cabala, to interpret childish dreams for you?"

"This is not a dream; it is something of the sort that wanders in the air, touches, breathes, goes away and comes again, like a haze--or the wind. You are grown up, and all say that you are clever. I beg you to explain this--I think, too, that, if you wished, you might so arrange matters that all would go better. It is your duty to do this. Do you not love mamma, father, Ira? I love them immensely--I would give up everything for them. I do not understand even how any person could live without loving somebody with full heart, and all strength--I could not. But what use--I am not grown up, not wise, I cannot even understand anything. With you it is different, but you have quarrelled with father. You do not even love him, I see that well. For what reason? Why? My brother, you might, at least, tell me something to explain."

She stopped, and he stared at her, a look of indecision increased on his face. Something of concern, and a trifle of tenderness gleamed in his eyes. It might have seemed for some seconds that he would put his arm around her, or stroke her with his palm and smooth away the wrinkles from her childish forehead.

But--"Arcadian" feelings were in the past, so he began to speak coldly and deliberately:

"My dear, you are torturing your little head for nothing with affairs of this world; you are not equal to them yet. I cannot tell anything to you, or explain anything, for you and I are at the two opposite poles of thought. You speak of devotion, duty, and love, like a governess, for you have a governess yet. As to my disagreement with father, you know nothing of what caused it; but, to be a kindly brother, I will answer a few words. Two developed and energetic individualities have met in this case and come into collision, like two planets. Two egotisms also--do not show such frightened eyes. Stupid nurses frighten children with a beggar, a gypsy, or an egotist, but mature people know that egotism is a universal right; and, moreover, good business. Be an egotist. Take no trouble about what does not concern your own self and strive to develop your own individuality. Keep this in view, play joyously with Puffie, and go to sleep early, for long watching spoils the complexion of young ladies. Begin to think to-morrow of the dress which you will wear at that brilliant ball--planned by our father to torment mamma--and you will have success. Do not mind those mists, dreams, and other visions which come and go. They are conditions of mind which are very much subject to fancy, and other painted pots. This is all that I, your great-grandfather, can tell you, or mention as advice. Look at Ira and imitate her wisdom, which knows how to make sport of the world around her. Good-night to you, little one!"

He pressed her hand in such a friendly manner that he hurt it, and then went away, disappearing at the other end of the chamber.

Cara stood for a time with her eyes fixed on the floor, then she raised her head and looked around at the void in which silence had fixed itself. The globe-lamps burning, here and there, at the walls, filled the drawing-room with a hazy, half-light, in which, here and there, glittered golden reflections, and the features of faces, and landscapes flimmered on pictures. Farther on, from the shady corner of the other drawing-room, slender and swelling vases appeared, partially; portions of white garlands on the walls; the delicate dimness of dulled colors on Gobelin tapestry.

Farther still, in the small warm and bright drawing-room, lights were burning in the candelabra, and a crown of glittering crystals were hanging like icicles, or immense frozen tears.

Farthest off, in the dining-room, with its dark walls, gleamed a great lamp, in its hanging bronze, like a point of light, above the table. This point seemed very far from where Cara was standing, and in all the s.p.a.ce between her and it there was not a voice, not a rustle, nothing living. Only once a waiter, dressed in black, pa.s.sed on tip-toe through the dining-room, emerged into the full light of the lamp, and disappeared behind a door. After that there was no voice, no step, no noise--nothing living. All at once a clock began to strike nine. Its metallic sound inclined to ba.s.s, and was heard clearly in the silence which had settled in the vacant chambers. One, two, three--at the fourth stroke another clock was heard in a distant study. Its sound was thinner and more like singing--these two seemed to be a voice and its echo; the sounds from these resembled a mysterious conversation carried on by things that were inanimate.

Cara hurried then, and hastened through the drawing-rooms on tip-toe toward her mother's boudoir. Through her widely opened eyes looked fear, and under bright curls her forehead was thickly wrinkled.

CHAPTER VIII

Because of his absence of ten days Darvid, on his return from the hunting scenes, which had pa.s.sed noisily and splendidly at Prince Zeno's, rushed into the whirl of business--of labors and visits which even for him, who was so greatly trained, proved to be wearisome and difficult. He drove out; he received for long hours, both alone and with the a.s.sistance of others; he wrote, reckoned, counselled, discussed, concluded contracts, with a mult.i.tude of men. Sometimes, in the very short intervals between occupations, in his carriage, after a noisy and laborious night, or at the almost sleepless end of it, while putting himself to bed, he thought, that in every case the amus.e.m.e.nt from which he had returned a few days before had cost him more than the worth of it. His life was a belt of toil and duties, so closely woven that every interruption brought to a new point an acc.u.mulation of these toils and duties that might surpa.s.s even his powers. And what had his object been? Why had he gone? Had he found pleasure in that place? What pleasure? Those full-grown, or even old men, who found their delight, or disappointment in this, that they had hit or had missed a shot; those great lords, spending their time at a recreation which, by the uproar, the style of conversation, the spectacle of bloodshed, reminded him of the mental and physical condition of wild men--seemed to him children which were sometimes annoying and sometimes ridiculous. Such frivolous amus.e.m.e.nt, idle, somewhat savage, somewhat knightly, found no access to his brain, which had been occupied so long with the seriousness of dates and figures. He had met there, it is true, though only once, a man in a lyric mood. A youthful person, who was riding one day at his side, and who afterward, when they halted, strove to incline him to enthusiasm because of the snow-covered field; the fresh breezes blowing over that field; the deep perspective of the forest, etc. That man was lyric. He confessed openly that the hunting was to him indifferent; that he took part in it not for game, but for nature. He loved nature.

Yes, yes, Darvid knew that many people loved nature. Art and nature must be powers, since a mult.i.tude of men bow down to them.

Perhaps he, too, would have done so if the career of his life had led him into their presence, but the path of his life led him in another direction, far from nature and art, hence he did not know them; he had not had the time. He looked at a field, at snow, at a forest--and he saw a field, snow, a forest--nothing higher, nothing more. He was of those who call a cat a cat, a rogue a rogue, and hold every hyperbole, ode, and enthusiasm in silent contempt. He listened to his lyric companion, at first with curiosity, investigating in the man a certain kind of people little known to him. When he had finished he listened only through politeness, and with concealed annoyance. He concealed his annoyance, and tried openly to pretend that he shared the enthusiasm, the rapture, and the gladness. He was, of course, in an a.s.sembly of very wealthy persons, standing very high. He sailed in a sea of blood purely blue, so he hid away irony, contempt, and yawning, and had on the outside only smoothness itself, affability, and general pleasantness of manner, speech, and smiles. That was also a labor, rewarded at once with a certain degree of lively enjoyment. In lordly drawing-rooms, himself the equal of the highest, while pa.s.sing the time in a friendly manner and conversing with princes he was unconscious at first that he raised his smooth, lofty forehead and gave himself out as greater than he was in reality, and inhaled with distended nostrils the odor of that grandeur which surrounded him as well as that which was his own. But soon this condition yielded to something embarra.s.sing, not quite clearly defined, but causing this, that he did not feel altogether certain of himself and the fitness of his whole self to the surrounding. For though the politeness of those about him was unquestioned and most exquisite, though words of praise in recognition of his services and labor struck his hearing, though his strong feet had under them a foundation carved from gold; he felt strange in that position, involved in phenomena which were new to him, and bristling with difficulties. Sometimes the guests mentioned things of which he was ignorant, they used expressions which were strange to him, and referred to degrees of relations.h.i.+p, and events with which he was unacquainted. He began to stand guard over his own words and movements, with a mysterious fear lest something of his might come out too emphatic, or high colored for the background before which he found himself. In spite of everything which connected the man with that background, he began to feel a broad vacuum between him and it himself.

This timidity, a thing entirely new, entirely unknown to Darvid from his earliest years, was an oppression which, during the last days of the hunt, fell on him together with weariness, and some third thing--a feeling of the difference between himself and those who surrounded him. Nothing could help him: neither the iron labor which they praised audibly, nor the millions piled up by that labor--millions for which they felt unconcealed reverence. Among those men into whose society he had always desired to enter as an integral part thereof, on that social height to which he had been climbing in imagination and with effort, he felt as if he were in some uneasy chair, put out in a cold wind, and deprived of every outlook. He found nothing there on which to rest his eye, or his thought. Emptiness, emptiness, weariness. A little humiliation which, like a tiny, but venomous worm, was boring into the bottom of his heart. It was not wonderful, therefore, that when he thought of how he had used his time, and of all that he had seen, heard, and pa.s.sed through, there was on his lips one of those smiles most bristling with pins points, while in his mind he repeated the expression: "Wretchedness!"

He was too wise not to give this name at times to many things of the world which he desired and toward which he was struggling.

After some days of labor, so intense that it astonished those who saw it, and which weakened those who a.s.sisted in it, he received at an hour before evening, as customary, in his study, all men who came either on business, or with visits. He knew no exceptions for anyone, nor indulgence for himself. He received all, conversed with all, for it was impossible to foresee what a given man might contribute, or what he might be good for, if not at the moment, some time, if not much, then a little. But his cheeks seemed thinner than usual, and at moments his speech was less fluent. That hunting trip, and all which he had experienced at it, and afterward, days of activity and unparalleled exertion, were reflected on his face in an expression of suffering. And sometimes even a slight hesitation in speech arose from this, that his mind ran to a subject which tortured him, and raised in his breast a lump of slimy serpents. Some hours before he had inquired of his secretary, who, in spite of youth, zeal, and wit, was bending beneath the burden of labor imposed on him, whether everything was ready for the ball to be given soon, and whether he had received directions from the lady of the house during his, Darvid's, recent absence. The secretary showed great astonishment. How was that? Then the project had not been abandoned? On the morning after the departure of his princ.i.p.al the secretary sought to come to an understanding with Pani Darvid on this subject, but was able to see only Panna Irene, who declared that he would receive no instructions, and that his a.s.sistance would not be needed. After that there was silence in the house, undisturbed by preparations of any kind.

"Then," said Darvid, "my wife must be out of health. She has neuralgia frequently. What is to be done? A woman's nerves are a force majeure."

But now, while receiving visits and speaking of business, he avoided thinking of the unexpected resistance. How was this!

She--the woman for whom the highest favor, the pinnacle of happiness had been the possibility of remaining at the head of his house, in the brilliancy of wealth and general respect, dared--had the shamelessness to oppose his will! He felt such contempt that, in thought, he threw that woman on the ground to trample her; in spite of this, that, almost unconsciously, he ascribed the blame not to her, but to Irene. Almost unconsciously he saw the tall young lady; she stood before his eyes, cold and distinguished; she, who at the foot of the stairway, in the down of her black fur cloak, with an almost hard glitter in her eyes, under the fantastic hat, had said: "That ball will not be given."

That was Irene. The other woman could not have risen to this act.

Did he not know her? She had always been so mild and weak--powerless, pitiable! She could not command such energy! It was Irene!

With these thoughts he pressed the hand of the last guest, and said to him at the threshold, that there was absolute need for the commercial company of which they had been talking to gain a broader foundation of activity by obtaining more and surer sources of credit.

"Credit, my dear sir, credit is the first letter in the alphabet of contemporary finance. Send some man to the capital--some man--"

He hesitated here, thinking "It was Irene!" Then he finished:

"Some man with proper authority and weight--best of all that person of whom we have been speaking. Such is my advice."

After the last bow of the guest they closed the door of the anteroom. Darvid turned and saw Irene standing at the round table. That day, while pa.s.sing on the stairs, when she was returning from a trip to the city, and he was hastening to the carriage waiting for him, they had greeted each other hurriedly and in pa.s.sing. He had not a moment's time then to talk with her; she, too, was in a hurry, for she ran up the stairs quickly.

"Bon jour, pere!" said she, inclining her head with swift movement.

"Bon jour, Irene," answered he, touching his hat. Behind him moved the secretary, carrying a heavy portfolio of papers; after her went some merchant's servant with packages. No greeting was necessary now. Irene, standing at the table, began to speak at once:

"I have come, father, to beg you in mamma's name and my own for a half-an-hour's conversation, but to-day, now, absolutely."

Her bodice, which was dark and close fitting, had a very high-standing ruff, which enclosed her slightly elongated and very pale face, just as the half-open s.h.i.+eld of a leaf encloses a white flower-bud. Her whole person, in that chamber, with its very high ceiling and ma.s.sive furniture, seemed smaller and less tall than elsewhere. However, the words "now and absolutely" were spoken with such solid emphasis, that Darvid halted in the middle of the room and fixed a sharp glance on her.