CHAPTER VI
Meanwhile Augustinovich went to live permanently with Yosef. How different was his former from his present life! Formerly he had had no warm corner, now Yosef gave him a warm corner; he had had no bed, Yosef bought him a bed; he had had no blanket, Yosef bought him a blanket; he had had no clothes, Yosef got clothes for him; he had been without food, Yosef divided his own dinner with him. He found himself in conditions entirely different. Warmed, nourished, in a decent overcoat, combed, washed, shaved, he became a different man altogether. He was, as we have said, a person with a character unparalleled for weakness; conditions of life always created him, he was merely the resultant of forces. So under Yosef's strong hand he changed beyond recognition. He began to enjoy order and plenty, abundance in life. As he had not been ashamed before of anything, so now he began to be ashamed of everything which did not accord with elegant clothing and gloves. The most difficult thing was to disaccustom himself from drinking; but he had no chance to resume his former vice, for Yosef, who guarded him as the eye in his head, did not let him out of sight; he bought vodka for him, but did not let him have money. It would be difficult to describe the impatience with which Augustinovich waited for the moment when Yosef opened the cupboard to pour him a glass. How much he dreamed in that moment, how he represented the taste of the drink to himself, the putting of it to his lips, the touch of it on his tongue, the swallowing through his throat, and finally the solemn entrance of it into his stomach!
But Yosef, to deprive this treat of its humiliating character, drank to him usually.
In the course of time he treated him better; he began to associate him with various affairs of his own and the University, and finally with his own way of thinking. There is no need of saying that Augustinovich took all this to himself, that he repeated Yosef s words where he could preface them usually with, "I judge that, etc." Who would have recognized him? He, for whom nothing had been too cynical, said now in student gatherings when the conversation took too free a turn, "Gentlemen, above all, decency." The students laughed; Yosef himself smiled in silence, but so far he was content with his own work.
We need not add that Yosef attending the same faculty with Augustinovich studied with him evenings. He had then the opportunity of estimating his capabilities to the full. For that mind there was no such thing as more difficult or easier; a certain wild intuition took the place of thought and deliberation. His memory, not so retentive as it was capacious, took the place of labor.
Vasilkevich was a frequent visitor of theirs. At first he came with Karvovski, then he came alone daily at his own hour. His conversations with Yosef, circling about the most important questions of life and science, became more confidential. Those two men felt each other, and each divined in the other a powerful mind and will. A relation founded on mutual esteem seemed to herald a permanent future.
Both seized in their hands the direction of youth in the University; the initiative of general activities started only with them, and since they agreed there was agreement in the University; comradeship and science gained most by that friendship.
"Tell me," inquired Yosef on a time, "what do they say of my action with Augustinovich?"
"Some pay thee homage," answered Vasilkevich; "others laugh. I visited one of thy opponents on behalf of our library; I found there no small crowd, and they were just speaking of thee and Augustinovich. But dost thou know who defended thee most warmly?"
"Well, who was it?"
"Guess."
"Lolo Karvovski."
"No, not he."
"As God lives, I cannot imagine."
"Gustav."
"Gustav?"
"Ah, he told those who were laughing at thee so many agreeable facts—they will not forget them soon, I guarantee that. Thou knowest how well he can do such things. I thought that the deuce would take them."
"I should not have expected this of Gustav."
"I had not seen him for a long time. Oh, he has sunk in that wretched love to the ears. But he is a strong fellow—and I am sorry for him. Tell me, thou art more skilled in this than I am: is he very sick?"
"Oh, he is not well."
"What is it? asthma?"
Yosef nodded. "Excessive work, grief."
"Too bad."
All at once steps were heard on the stairs, the door opened, Gustav walked in.
He was changed beyond recognition. The skin on his face had become wonderfully white, it had grown transparent From his face came a certain coldness, as from a corpse; a yellowish shade shone from his forehead, which seemed to be of wax. His lips were white; his hair, beard, and mustache looked almost black as compared with that pallor. He was like a man who had passed through a long illness, and on his face had settled certainty concerning himself and a kind of despairing resignation.
Yosef, a little astonished, a little confused, did not know perhaps how to begin. Gustav brought him out of the trouble.
"I have come to thee with a prayer," said he. "Once thou didst promise not to visit the widow; withdraw that promise."
Yosef made a wry face with a kind of constraint. But he only answered,—
"It is not a custom with me to break my word."
"True," answered Gustav, calmly; "but this is something entirely different. If I were to die, for example, the promise would not bind thee, and I, as thou seest, am sick, very grievously sick. Meanwhile she needs protection. I cannot protect her now, I cannot watch over her. I must lie down to rest, for I am wearied somewhat. For that matter, I will tell the whole truth to thee. She loves thee, and beyond doubt thou lovest her also. I have stood in thy way and hers, but now I withdraw. I do so perforce, and I shall not represent this as a sacrifice. I loved her much, and I had a little hope that she would love me some day; but I was mistaken." Here his voice fell an octave lower. "No one has ever loved me. It has been very gloomy for me in life—But what is to be done? Of late I have passed through much, but now that is over. To-day my concern is that she be not left alone. Had I been able to decide on a sacrifice, thou wouldst be her protector to-day. Canst thou do this for me, Yosef? Thou hast energy, thou art rich, and she, I say, loves thee, so thou wilt not end as I have. Oh, it has been hard in this world for me—But never mind. I should not like to do her an injury—I love her yet. I should not wish her to be alone because of me. At times, seest thou, it is not proper to refuse people anything. Go, go to her! Thou and I lived together once, we fought the same trouble, hence thou shouldst do me this favor; for, I repeat, I am sick and I know not whether I shall see her or thee again."
A tear gathered in Vasilkevich's eye; he rose and said, turning to Yosef,—
"Thou shouldst do all that Gustav asks of thee."
"I will go to her, I will protect her," answered Yosef, decidedly. "I give my word of honor to both of you."
"I thank thee," said Gustav. "Go there now."
A little later he was alone with Vasilkevich. The Lithuanian was silent for some time, he struggled with his own heart; finally he spoke in a voice of heartfelt sympathy, "Gustav, poor Gustav, how thou must suffer at this moment!"
Gustav made no answer. He drew the air into his mouth with hissing, gritted his teeth, his face quivered convulsively, and a sudden sobbing tore his breast, strength left him completely.
......
Three days later Yosef and Vasilkevich were sitting in Gustav's lodging. The evening was bright; bundles of moonlight were falling into the room through the panes. At the bedside of the sick man a candle was burning. The sick man himself was still conscious. Almost beautiful was his face, which had grown yellow from suffering, with its lofty forehead, as it rested on high pillows. One emaciated hand lay on the blanket, with the other he pressed his bosom.
The light of the candle cast a rosy gleam on that martyr to his own feelings. The opposite corner of the room was obscure in the shadow. Gustav was giving an account of how he had cared for Helena. From time to time he answered, though with difficulty, now to Yosef, now to Vasilkevich, who, standing at the head of the bed, wiped away the abundant perspiration which came out on the forehead of the sufferer.
"I wish to forewarn thee," said Gustav. "They send her two thousand zlotys yearly (about $250), but she needs from five to six thousand. I earned the rest for her—Push away the candle, and moisten my lips—I took from my own mouth, I did not sleep enough—Sometimes I did not eat a meal for two days—Raise me a little, and support me higher, I cannot speak There are thirty rubles more for her in that box—It is dark around me-Let me rest—"
A mouse made a piece of paper rustle in one corner; except that, silence held the room. Death was coming.
"I should like to finish our work," continued Gustav. "Tell my associates not to quarrel—Cold is seizing me—I am curious to know if there be a heaven or a hell. I have never prayed—but, but—"
Vasilkevich inclined toward him and asked in a low voice,—
"Gustav, dost thou believe in immortality?"
The sick man could speak no longer; he nodded in sign of affirmation. Then low tones of enchanting music seemed to be given forth in that chamber. Along the rays of the moonlight a legion of angels pushed in from the sky; the room was filled with them, some with white, others with golden or colored wings. They came quietly, bent over the bed. The rustle of their wings was audible.
The spirit of Gustav went away with that low-sounding orchestra.
The funeral took place with great solemnity. The whole University in a body was present around the coffin. Then they spoke for the first time of the accurate knowledge, the toil and sacrifices of the deceased. It appeared from the accounts which Yosef examined that Gustav had earned about four thousand zlotys ($500) yearly. All of this went to the widow; he lived himself like a dog. This voluntary but silent heroism made for him an enduring monument in the hearts of the young men. They discovered also various labors of the deceased which indicated solid acquirements, nay, talent. They found his diary, which was a confession in simple and even blunt words of all the dark side of his life of privation, a kind of apology for the passionate outbreaks of youth, those imaginary but still real sufferings, those struggles, those pains, those internal storms, and conversations held with self. The inner life of enthusiastic natures was unveiled there in all its dark solemnity. It was a terror to look into that chaos which is not to be known in every-day life, in that "so devilishly gilded world," as the poetess calls it.
The memoirs were read at Vasilkevich's rooms; there was even a proposition to print them, though it was not brought into effect somehow. But Augustinovich wrote a paper after Gustav's death. Very eloquently did he describe the man's career. He showed him from years of childhood, when he was still happy. The charm of the description of those spring moments of life was so great that it seemed as though the sun of May had shone upon the writer. Then the picture grew sombre. It was seen how the deceased had left his native cottage; how the dog, the old servant, ran after him howling. Then still darker: life hurled him about, tossed him, rent him. Again a ray shone as if on a cloud. In rainbow form Pani Helena appeared to him—he stretched his arms toward that light. "The rest you know," wrote Augustinovich. "Let him sleep now, and dream of her. The field swallow will sing her name above his grave. Let him rest in peace. The spark is quenched, the bowl is broken—that is Gustav."
But it happens usually that people after his death speak much of a man whom during life they almost buffeted. Let us give peace then to Gustav, and follow the further fortune of our acquaintances, and especially of Yosef, the hero of this volume.
With him nothing had changed, but he himself from the time of his first visit to Pani Helena went about as if in meditation and was silent.
Augustinovich accustomed himself more and more to the new condition.
At the general's the guests danced as before. At the engineer's they pounded on the piano. The countess sang in the evening. Gustav's room was occupied by a shoemaker who had two scrofulous descendants and a wife with a third misery. In the place where thoughts from a noble head had circled and words of warmth had dropped, were now heard the thread and the shoemaker's stirrup.
The widow did not hear of Gustav's death immediately; Yosef concealed it, fearing too violent an impression. Later he was astonished to find that she received the news with sadness, it is true, but with no sign of despair. We have much to tell of those new relations; in the succeeding part we shall pass to them directly.