The Argonauts. Eliza OrzeszkowaЧитать онлайн книгу.
She was so like her mother, that Malvina's youth was simply renewed in Cara.
But Malvina, when he made her acquaintance, was considerably older; the hair was just the same, very bright, and the eyes with dark brows and pupils, the same shape of forehead. With a deepening of the wrinkles between his brows he repeated:
"Why not come offener?"
"You are always so occupied, father," whispered she.
"What of that?" answered he hurriedly and abruptly.
"There is reproach in your voice. Are my occupations a crime? But labor is service, it is the value of a man. My children should esteem my labor more than others, since I toil for them as much, or even more, than for myself."
He did not even think of speaking to that child with a voice so abrupt, and with such a cloud on his forehead; but that cloud came to him from some place within, from a distant feeling of something which he had never looked at directly before. But he hardly knew the girl! When he went away the last time she was a child; now she was almost full grown. But she, in the twinkle of an eye, slipped from the low armchair to the carpet, and kneeling with clasped hands began to speak passionately and quickly:
"Your child is on her knees before you, father. When you were far away she revered you, did you homage, longed for you; when you are here she loves you greatly, above everything—"
Here she turned and removed from her dress the ball of ash-colored silk, which was climbing to her shoulder.
"Go away, Puffie, go away! I have no time for thee now."
She pushed away the little dog, which sat on the carpet some steps distant. Darvid felt a stream of pleasant warmth flooding into his breast from the words of his daughter; but on principle he did not like enthusiasm. In feelings and the expression of them he esteemed moderation beyond everything. He raised with both hands the girl's head, which was bending toward his knees.
"Be not excited, be not carried away. Repose is beautiful, it is indispensable; without repose no calculation can be accurate, no work complete. Your attachment makes me happy; but compose yourself, rise from your knees, sit comfortably."
She put her hands together as in prayer.
"Let me stay as I am, father, at your knee. I imagined that on your return I should be able to talk often and long with you; to ask about everything, learn everything from you."
She coughed. Darvid took her in his arms, and, without raising her from her knees, he drew her to his breast.
"See! your cough lasts! Do you cough much? Well, do not speak, do not speak! let it pass. Does this cough pass quickly?"
It had passed. She stopped coughing, laughed. Her teeth glittered like pearls between her red lips. A gleam of delight shot through Darvid's eyes.
"It has gone already! I do not cough often, only rarely. I am perfectly well. I was very sick when I got chilled at an open window while you were away, father."
"I know, I know. Your enthusiastic little head thought of opening the window on a winter night, so as to peep out and see how the garden looked covered with snow in the moonlight."
"The trees, father, the trees!" began she, smiling and with vivacity; "not the whole garden, just the trees, which, covered with snow and frost in the moonlight, were like pillars of marble, alabaster, crystal, set with diamonds, hung with laces; and whenever the slightest breeze moved, a rain of pearls was scattered on the ground." "Great God!" exclaimed Darvid, "marbles, alabasters, laces, diamonds, pearls! But there was nothing of all this in fact! There was nothing but dry trunks, branches, snow, and hoar-frost. That is exaltation! And you see how destructive it may be! It brought you acute inflammation of the lungs, the traces of which are not gone yet."
"They are!" answered she, in passing, and then she spoke seriously. "My father, is it exaltation to worship something which is very beautiful, or to love some one greatly with all our strength? If it is—then I am given to exaltation, but without exaltation what could we live for?"
An expression of wonder, meditation, thoughtfulness filled her eyes and covered her finely cut face with a freshness like that of a wild rose. With a movement of wonder she opened her arms, and repeated:
"What do we live for?"
Darvid laughed.
"I see that your head is turned a little, but you are a child yet, and your trouble will pass."
Stroking her pale, golden hair, he continued:
"Homage, love, and like things of the sensational sort, are very nice, very beautiful, but should not occupy the first place."
Cara listened so eagerly that her mouth was open somewhat, and she became motionless as a statue.
"But what should stand in the first place, father?"
Darvid did not answer at once. What? What should stand in the first place?
"Duty," said he.
"What duty, father?"
Again he was silent a while. What duty? Yes, what kind of duty?
"Naturally the duty of labor, hard labor."
The flush on Cara's face increased; she was all curiosity, all eagerness to hear her father's words.
"Labor, for what, father, dear?"
"How? for what?"
"For what purpose? For what purpose? because no one labors for the labor itself. For what purpose?"
For what purpose? How that child pushed him to the wall with her questions! With hesitation in his voice, he answered:
"There are various purposes—"
"But you, father, for what are you working?" continued she, with eager curiosity.
He knew very well for what purpose he wished now to undertake the gigantic labor of erecting a multitude of buildings for the residence of an army, but could he explain that to this child? Meanwhile the dark eyes of the child were fastened on his face, urging him to an answer.
"What is it?" said he. "I—labor gives me considerable, sometimes immense profits."
"In money?" asked she.
"In money."
She made a motion with her head, signifying that she knew that this long time.
"But I," began she, "if I wanted to work, should not know what to work for, I should not know for what object I could work."
He laughed.
"You will not need to work; I will work for you, and instead of you." "Well, father!" exclaimed she, with a resonant laugh, "what can I do? To worship, to love, is exaltation—duty is labor, but if I may not labor, what am I to do?"
Again she opened her small hands with astonishment and inquiry; her eyes were flashing, her lips trembling.
Darvid, with marks of disagreeable feeling on his face, reached for his watch.
"I have no time," said he; "I must go to the club."
At that moment the servant announced from the antechamber, through the open door:
"Prince Zeno Skirgello."
Delight burst forth on Darvid's face. Cara sprang up from her knees, and looking around, called:
"Puff! Puff! Come, let us be off! doggy."
"Where is the prince?" asked Darvid, hurriedly. "Is he here, or in the carriage?"
"In the carriage," answered the servant.
"Beg him to come in, beg him to come in!"
In the delight which the unexpected arrival of the prince caused him at that time, he did not notice the expression of regret on Cara's face. Raising the little dog from the floor and holding him