In Vain/Chapter 10
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 role 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."