The Argonauts
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Eliza Orzeszko (AKA Orzeszkowa) >> The Argonauts
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20 Introduction
Eliza Orzeszko, the authoress of "The Argonauts," is the greatest
female writer and thinker in the Slav world at present. There are
keen and good critics, just judges of thought and style, who
pronounce her the first literary artist among the women of
Europe.
These critics are not Western Europeans, for Western Europe has
no means yet of appreciating this gifted woman. No doubt it will
have these means after a time in the form of adequate
translations. Meanwhile I repeat that she is the greatest
authoress among all the Slav peoples. She is a person of rare
intellectual distinction, an observer of exquisite perception in
studying men and women, and the difficulties with which they have
to struggle.
Who are the Slavs among whom Eliza Orzeszko stands thus
distinguished?
The Slavs form a very large majority of the people in
Austria-Hungary, an immense majority in European Turkey, and an
overwhelming majority in the Russian Empire; they are besides an
unyielding, though repressed, majority in that part of Prussian
territory known as Posen in German, and Poznan in Polish.
The Slav race occupies an immense region extending from Prussia,
Bohemia, and the Adriatic eastward to the Pacific Ocean. Its main
divisions are the Russians, Poles, Bohemians (Chehs), Serbs,
Bulgarians; its smaller divisions are the Slovaks, Wends,
Slovinians, Croats, Montenegrins. These all have literature in
some form, literature which in respect to the world outside is
famous, well known, little known, or unknown.
The Slavs have behind them a history dramatic to the utmost,
varied, full of suffering, full also, of heroism in endurance or
valor.
The present time is momentous for all nations, the future is a
tangled riddle; for the Slavs this seems true in a double
measure. To involved social problems is added race opposition in
the breasts of neighbors, a deep, sullen historic hostility.
Hence when a writer of power appears among the Slavs, whether he
takes up the past or the present, he has that at hand through
which he compels the whole world to listen. Sienkiewicz has shown
this, so has Tolstoy, so have Dostoyevski and Gogol.
The present volume gives in translation a book which should be
widely read with much pleasure. The winning of money on an
immense scale to the neglect of all other objects, to the neglect
even of the nearest duties, is the sin of one Argonaut; the utter
neglect of money and the proper means of living is the ruin of
the other.
Darvid by "iron toil" laid the basis of a splendid structure, but
went no farther; he had not the time, he had not the power,
perhaps, to build thereon himself, and his wife, to whom he left
the task, had not the character to do so. By neglect of duty
Darvid is brought to madness; by neglect of money Kranitski is
brought to be a parasite, and when he loses even that position he
is supported by a servant.
The right use of wealth, the proper direction of labor, these are
supreme questions in our time, and beyond all in America.
Friends have advised Madame Orzeszko to visit this country and
study it; visit Chicago, the great business centre, the most
active city on earth, and New York, the great money capital. If
she comes she will see much to rouse thought. What will she see?
That we know how to win money and give proper use to it? Whatever
she sees, it will be something of value, that is undoubted;
something that may be compared with European conditions,
something to be compared with the story in this book.
Eliza Orzeszko writes because she cannot help writing; her works,
contained in forty-odd volumes, touch on the most vital subjects
in the world about her. She tells the truth precisely as she sees
it. We may hope for much yet from the pen of this lady, who is
still in the best years of her intellectual activity.
Madame Orzeszko was born a little more than fifty years ago in
Lithuania, that part of the Commonwealth which produced
Mickiewicz, the great poet, and Kosciuszko the hero.
THE ARGONAUTS
By Eliza Orzeszko (Orzeszkowa)
Translated by Jeremiah Curtin
Bristol, Vt., U.S.A.
September 12, 1901.
CHAPTER I
It was the mansion of a millionaire. On the furniture and the
walls of drawing-rooms, colors and gleams played as on the
surface of a pearl shell. Mirrors reflected pictures, and inlaid
floors shone like mirrors. Here and there dark tapestry and
massive curtains seemed to decrease the effect, but only at first
sight, for, in fact, they lent the whole interior a dignity which
was almost churchlike. At some points everything glistened,
gleamed, changed into azure, scarlet, gold, bronze, and the
various tints of white peculiar to plaster-of-Paris, marble,
silk, porcelain. In that house were products of Chinese and
Japanese skill; the styles of remote ages were there, and the
most exquisite and elegant among modern styles, lamps,
chandeliers, candlesticks, vases, ornamental art in its highest
development. Withal much taste and skill was evident, a certain
tact in placing things, and a keenness in disposing them, which
indicated infallibly the hand and the mind of a woman who was far
above mediocrity.
The furnishing of this mansion must have cost sums which to the
poor would seem colossal, and very considerable even to the
wealthy.
Aloysius Darvid, the owner of this mansion, had not inherited his
millions; he had won them with his own iron labor, and he toiled
continually to increase them. His industry, inventiveness, and
energy were inexhaustible. To him business seemed to be what
water is to a fish: the element which gives delight and freedom.
What was his business? Great and complicated enterprises: the
erection of public edifices, the purchase, sale, and exchange of
values of various descriptions, exchanges in many markets and
corporations. To finish all this business it was necessary to
possess qualities of the most opposite character: the courage of
the lion and the caution of the fox, the talons of the falcon and
the elasticity of the cat. His life was passed at a gaming-table,
composed of the whole surface of a gigantic State; that life was
a species of continuous punting at a bank kept by blind chance
rather frequently; for calculation and skill, which meant very
much in his career, could not eliminate chance altogether, that
power which appears independently. Hence, he must not let chance
overthrow him; he might drop to the earth before its thrusts and
contract a muscle, but only to parry, make an elastic spring, and
seize new booty. His career was success rising and falling like a
river, it was also a fever, ceaselessly bathed in cool
calculation and reckoning.
As to the rest, post-wagons, railways, bells at railway stations,
urging to haste, glittering snows of the distant North, mountains
towering on the boundary between two parts of the world, rivers
cutting through uninhabited regions, horizons marked with the
gloomy lines of Siberian forests, solitary since the beginning of
ages. Then, as a change: noise, glitter, throngs, the brilliancy
of capitals, and in those capitals a multitude of doors, some of
which open with freedom, while others are closed hermetically;
before doors of the second sort the pliancy of the cat's paw is
needed; this finds a hole where the broad way is impossible.
He was forced to be absent from his family for long months,
sometimes for whole years, and even when living under the same
roof with the members of it he was a rare guest, never a real
confiding companion. For permanence, intimacy, tender feeling in
relations, with even those who were nearest him, Darvid had not
the time, just as he had not the time to concentrate his thoughts
on any subject whatever unless it was connected with his lines,
dates, and figures, or with the meshes of that net in which he
enclosed his thoughts and his iron labor.
As to amusements and delights of life, they were at intervals
love-affairs, flashing up on a sudden, transient, fleeting,
vanishing with the smoke of the locomotive which rushed forward,
at times luxuries of the table peculiar to various climates, or
majestic scenery which forced itself on the eye by its grandeur
and disappeared quickly, or some hours of animated card-playing;
but, above all, relations with social magnates, who were on the
one hand of use, and on the other an immensely great honor to his
vanity. Money and significance, these were the two poles around
which all Darvid's thoughts, desires, and feelings circled; or,
at least, it might seem all, for who can be certain that nothing
exists in a man save that which is manifest in his actions?
Surely no one, not the man himself even.
After three years' absence, Darvid had returned only a few months
before to his native city, and to his own house, where he was as
ever a rare and inattentive guest. Pie was laboring again. In the
first week, on the first day almost, he discovered a new field;
he was very anxious to seize this field, and begin his Herculean
efforts on it. But the seizure depended on a certain very highly
placed personage to whom, up to that time, he had not been able
to gain admittance.
The cat's paw had played about a number of times to open a
crevice in the closed door, but in vain! He desired a
confidential talk of two hours, but could not obtain it.
He turned then to a method which had given him real service
frequently.
He found an individual who had the art of squeezing into all
places, of winning everyone, of digging from under the earth
circumstances, relations, influences. Individuals of this kind
are generally dubious in character, but this concerned Darvid in
no way. He considered that at the bottom of life dregs are found
as surely as slime is in rivers which have golden sand. He
thought of life's dregs and smiled contemptuously, but did not
hesitate to handle those dregs, and see if there were golden
grains in them. He called his dubious assistants hounds, for they
tracked game in thickets inaccessible to the hunter. Small,
almost invisible, they were still better able than he to contract
muscles, creep up or spring over. He had let out such a hound a
few days before to gain the desired audience, and had received no
news from him thus far. This disturbed and annoyed Darvid
greatly. He would rush into the new work like a lion into an
arena, and spring at fresh prey.
The evening twilight came down into the series of great and small
chambers. Darvid, in his study, furnished with such dignified
wealth that it was almost severe in the rich lamp-light, received
men who came on affairs of various descriptions: with reports,
accounts, requests, proposals.
In that study everything was dark-colored, massive, grand in its
proportions, of great price, but not flashy. Not the least object
was showy or fantastic; nothing was visible save dignity and
comfort. There were books behind the glass of a splendid
bookcase, two great pictures on the wall, a desk with piles of
papers, in the middle of the room a round table covered with
maps, pamphlets, thick volumes; around the table, heavy, deep and
low armchairs. The room was spacious with a lofty ceiling, from
which hung over the round table a splendid lamp, burning
brightly.
Darvid's remote prototype, the Argonaut Jason, must have had
quite a different exterior when he sailed on toward Colchis to
find the golden fleece. Time, which changes the methods of
contest, changes the forms of its knights correspondingly. Jason
trusted in the strength of his arm and his sword-blade. Darvid
trusted in his brain and his nerves only. Hence, in him, brain
and nerves were developed to the prejudice of muscles, creating a
special power, which one had to know in order to recognize it in
that slender and not lofty figure, in that face with shrunken
cheeks, covered with skin which was dry, pale, and as mobile as
if quivering from every breeze which carried his bark toward the
shores which he longed for. On his cheeks shone narrow strips of
whiskers, almost bronze-hued; the silky ends of these fell on his
stiff, low collar; ruddy mustaches, short and firm, darkened his
pale, thin lips, which had a smile in the changeableness of which
was great expression; this smile encouraged, discouraged,
attracted, repelled, believed, doubted, courted or jeered-jeered
frequently. But the main seat of power in Darvid seemed to be his
eyes, which rested long and attentively on that which he
examined. These eyes had pupils of steel color, cold, very deep,
and with a fullness of penetrating light which was often sharp,
under brows which were prominent, whose ruddy lines were drawn
under a high forehead, increased further by incipient baldness-a
forehead which was smooth and had the polish of ivory; between
the brows were numerous wrinkles, like a cloud of anxiety and
care. His was a cold, reasoning face, energetic, with the stamp
of thought fixed between the brows, and lines of irony which had
made the mouth drawn.
A jurist, one of the most renowned in that great city, held in
his hand an open volume of the Code, and was reading aloud a
series of extracts from it. Darvid was standing and listening
attentively, but irony increased in his smile, and, when the
jurist stopped reading, he began in a low voice. This voice with
its tones suppressed, as it were, through caution, was one of
Darvid's peculiarities.
"Pardon me, but what you have read has no relation to the point
which concerns us." Taking the book he turned over its pages for
a while and began then to read from it. In reading he used
glasses with horn-rims; from these the yellowish pallor of his
lean face became deeper. The renowned jurist was confused and
astonished.
"You are right," said he. "I was mistaken. You know law
famously." How was he to avoid knowing it, since it was his
weapon and safety-valve! The jurist sat down on one of the broad
and low armchairs in silence, and now the architect unrolled on
the table the plan of a public edifice to which the last finish
was to be given during winter and before work began in spring.
Darvid listened again in silent thought, looking at the plan with
his steel-colored eyes, in which at times there flashed sparks of
ideas coming from the brain-ideas which, after a while, he
presented to the trained architect. He spoke in a voice low and
fluent; he spoke connectedly and very clearly. The architect
answered with respect, and, like, the jurist who had preceded,
not without a certain astonishment. Great God! this man knows
everything; he moves as freely in the fields of architecture,
mathematics, and law as in his own chamber! Darvid noticed the
astonishment of those around him, and irony settled on his thin
lips. Did those men imagine that he could begin such undertakings
and be like a blind man among colors? Some begin thus but are
ruined! He understood that in our time immense knowledge is the
only foundation for pyramidal fortunes, and his memory alone knew
the long series of nights which had passed above his head while
it was sleepless in winning knowledge.
Next appeared before the table a young man, lean and slender; his
dark eyes expressed genius, his clothing was threadbare, his
gestures almost vulgar. This was a sculptor, young but already
famous. The man had incipient consumption, which brought
excessive ruddiness to his face, a glitter to his eyes, and a
short, rasping cough from his breast.
He spoke of the sculptures which he was to finish for the
edifices reared by the great contractor; he showed the drawings
of them, and explained his ideas; he rose to enthusiasm; he spoke
more loudly, and coughed at more frequent intervals. Darvid
raised his head; the sensitive skin on his cheeks quivered with a
delicate movement; he touched the shoulder of the artist with the
tips of two white, slender fingers.
"Best," said he; "it hurts you to speak too long."
"My younger daughter coughs in just this way," remarked he to the
other men present, "and it troubles me somewhat."
"Perhaps a visit to Italy," said the architect.
"Yes, I have thought of that, but the doctors note nothing
dangerous so far." Then he turned to the sculptor:
"You ought to visit Italy, for its collections of art and--its
climate." The artist, not pleased with this interruption, did not
answer directly, but went on showing his projects and explaining
them; though his short breath and the cough, which was repeated
oftener, made his conversation more difficult. Thereupon Darvid
straightened himself.
"I know very little of art," said he. "Not because I despise it;
on the contrary, I think art a power, since the world does it
homage, but because I lack time. Trouble yourself no further to
exhibit plans and ideas here. I confirm them beforehand, knowing
well what I do. Prince Zeno, whose good taste and intellect I
admire, advised me to turn to you. At his house, moreover, I have
seen works of your chisel which charmed me. Some declare that we
men of finance and business represent only matter, and have no
concern with Psyche (the soul). But I say that your Psyche, now
in Prince Zeno's palace, produced on me the impression that I am
not matter only."
Irony covered his lips, but with increased amiability he added:
"Let us fix the amount of your honorarium, permit me to take the
initiative," said he, hurriedly.
In a tone of inquiry he mentioned a sum which was very
considerable. The sculptor bowed, unwilling, or unable to conceal
his delight and astonishment. Darvid touched him lightly on the
arm, and conducted him to a great desk, one drawer of which he
opened. The jurist and the architect at the round table exchanged
glances.
"A protege of the prince!" whispered one.
"Cleverness! advertising!" whispered the other.
"I know from report," said Darvid, to the young artist, "that
sculptors must spend considerable sums before they begin a given
work. Here is an advance. Do not hesitate. Money should be at the
service of talent."
The sculptor was astonished. He had imagined the millionaire as
entirely different.
"Money should be at the service of talent!" repeated he.
"I hear this for the first time from a man having money! Do you
really think so?" Darvid smiled, but his face clouded
immediately.
"My dear sir," said he, "I would give, I think, much money if a
cough like yours were not in the world."
"Because of your daughter--" began the sculptor, but Darvid had
grown cold now, ceremonious, and he turned toward the round
table.
At the same moment a servant announced from the door a new guest.
"Pan Arthur Kranitski."
The guest entered immediately after the servant, and passed the
outgoing sculptor in the door.
This guest was a man who carried his fifth decade of years with
youthful elasticity of movement, and with a pleasant, winning
expression on his still handsome face. In general he seemed to be
clothed with remnants of great manly beauty, from behind which,
like soiled lining through rents in a once splendid robe,
appeared, carefully concealed, old age, which was premature,
perhaps.
A tall man with a shapely oval face, he had dark whiskers, and
the black curls of his hair did not cover successfully the bald
spot appearing on the back of his head; his mustache was curled
upward, in the fashion of young men, above ruddy lips; he passed
through the study with a youthful step, and had the express
intention of greeting the master of the house in a cordial and
intimate manner. But in the cold eyes of Darvid appeared flashes
well-nigh threatening; he barely touched with his finger-tips the
hand extended by the guest-a hand really aristocratic, white,
slender, and greatly cared for.
"Pardon, pardon, dear Pan Aloysius, that I come at this hour,
just the hour of thy important, immense, colossal occupations!
But on receiving thy invitation I hastened."
"Yes," said Darvid, "I need to talk with you a little--will you
wait a while?"
He turned toward the two men standing by the table, who when he
greeted Kranitski looked at him with a curiosity impossible to
conceal.
Every meeting of Darvid with that eternal guest, that offshoot of
aristocratic families, roused the curiosity of people. For a good
while Darvid did not know this, but at last he discovered it, and
now his quick glance caught on the lips of the famous jurist a
barely discernible smile, to meet which a similar smile appeared
on the lips of the architect. He discoursed a few minutes more
with the two men. When they turned to go he conducted them to the
door; when that was closed he turned to Kranitski and said:
"Now I am at your service."
No one had ever seen service so icy cold, and having in it the
shade of a restrained threat. Kranitski in view of this spent
more time than was needed in placing his hat on one of the pieces
of furniture, besides an expression of alarm covered his face,
now bent forward, and, in the twinkle of an eye, the wrinkling of
his forehead and the dropping of his cheeks, made him look ten
years older. Still with grace which was unconscious, since it had
passed long before into habit, he turned to Darvid.
"Thou hast written to me, dear Pan Aloysius--"
"I have called you," interrupted Darvid, "for the purpose of
proposing a certain condition, and a change."
From a thick, long book he cut out a page, on which, previously,
he had written a few words in haste, and giving it to Kranitski,
he said:
"Here is a bank check for a considerable sum. Your affairs, as I
hear, are in a very disagreeable condition."
Kranitski's face grew radiant from delight, and became ten years
younger. Taking the check presented to him he began, with a
certain hesitation:
"Dear Pan Aloysius, this service, really friendly, which thou art
rendering me, even without request on my part, is truly
magnanimous, but be assured that the moment income from my
property increases--"
Darvid interrupted him a second time.
"We know each other so long that I cannot be ignorant of what
your property is, and what income you receive from it. You have
no property. You own a little village, the income from which has
never sufficed to satisfy even one half of your needs. In that
little village you would have passed your life unknown to the
great world if your mother had not been a relative of Prince
Zeno, and some other coronets of nine quarterings. But since you
had relationship so brilliant through your mother, high society
did not suffer from the loss of your presence. I know all that
relates to you, you need not try to lead me into error--I know
everything."
On the last words he put an emphasis which seemed to bring
Kranitski into a profound confusion, which he could not master.
"Parole d'honneur," began he, "I do not understand such a real
friendly service with such a tone."
"You will understand at once. This sum offered you is not a
friendly service, but a simple commercial transaction. To begin
with, I insist that for the future you cut short all relations
with my son Maryan."
Kranitski stepped back a number of paces.
"With Maryan!" exclaimed he, as if not wishing to believe his own
ears. "I break all relations with him! Is it possible? Why? How
can that be? But you yourself--"
"That is true, I myself began this. I wished that my family,
which, during my frequent absences, resided here permanently,
should move in that social sphere which I considered most
desirable, and I asked you to be the link between my family and
that sphere--"
"I did what you desired," interrupted Kranitski in turn, and
raising his head.
Darvid, looking firmly into his face, said in a low voice,
slowly, but the ice of his tones seemed at moments to break from
the boiling of passion confined beneath them.
"Yes, but you, sir, have demoralized my son. Of himself he would
never have gone to such a degree of corruption and idleness. You
drew him from study, you led him into all kinds of sport, you
took him to all places of amusement, from the highest to the
lowest. On returning, after three years' absence, I found Maryan
withered morally. Luckily he is a child yet, twenty-three years
of age, it is possible to save him. The process of salvation I
begin by forbidding you to have any further relations whatever
with my son."
Darvid grew terrible during his remaining words. His fingers were
sinking into the table, on which he rested his hand. The cluster
of wrinkles between his brows became deeper, his eyes had the
flash of steel in them; he was all hatred, anger, contempt. But
Kranitski, who at first listened to him as if unable to move from
astonishment, boiled up also with anger.
"What do you say?" cried he. "Does not my hearing deceive me? You
reproach me! Me, who during your ceaseless occupations and
absences have been for many years, one may say, the only guardian
of your family, and director of your son. Well! Then do you not
remember our former intimacy, and this, that it was I who made
you acquainted with the highest families of this city, and all
this country? Do you not remember your confidential statements to
me that you wished to give your daughters in marriage within
those circles to which my connections might be a convenient
bridge for you? Do you not remember your requests that I should
introduce Maryan into the best society, and teach him the manners
prevailing there? Very well! You were making your millions in
peace, going after them to the ends of the earth, while I did
everything that you wished, and now I meet with reproaches,
which, at the very least, are expressed without delicacy--des
reproches, des grossieretes--Mais ca n'a pas de nom! c'est inoui!
This demands the satisfaction of honor."
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