Book: Stories by Foreign Authors: Polish

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"What sacrifice? Who said anything about sacrifice? I have made up my
mind to get married, because I want to get married; and I WILL get
married, and if her father refuses his consent I'll run away with her!"
And he gave a lively account of his meeting with Mr. Mitrophanis.

The judge smiled as he listened, for he, too, had been thinking of this
match ever since the night before, and the more he thought of it the
more eminently fit and proper it seemed. After rigid self-examination,
he persuaded himself that he was quite disinterested in the matter, and
that his sweetheart's sister and his friend could never be happy apart.
As for the father's consent, he had little fear on that score. He rather
dreaded, it is true, the mission that was thrust upon him, especially
when he thought of the manner in which the old man had received his
name; but he felt that he could not refuse this service to his friend,
and finally promised to see Mr. Mitrophanis that very day, and to come
in the evening to report the happy result of his interview.




IV.


When the professor had gone, the judge began to think with misgiving of
the difficulties that beset his mission. He had so much at stake in its
success that his mediation might not be accepted as impartial, or his
praise of the suitor as quite unbiased. His friend's cause ought to have
been entrusted to some one less deeply interested in the event. If the
professor had not been in such haste to name him as an intermediary,
they could have consulted his cousin, and even placed the matter in her
hands; his own appearance on the scene would only give Mr. Mitrophanis
fresh offence.

But why not ask her advice in confidence? She was a woman of sense and
experience, and could probably find some way out of their quandary. Mr.
Liakos was on the point of going to his cousin, but he reflected that it
would be a grave indiscretion to impart the secret to a third person
without his friend's consent, and he felt too that it would be very weak
in him not to perform loyally the duty that he had undertaken. Forward,
then! Courage!

So Mr. Liakos started for the office of his sweetheart's father,
although not without inward trepidation.

It so happened that Mr. Mitrophanis was just receiving a consignment of
coffee from the Custom House; carts were coming up one after another,
porters were carrying the sacks into the warehouse, and the judge had
difficulty in making his way to the door.

It was a huge square building, with a room on the street partitioned off
at one corner. This room was the office, and had a grated window; but
the light from it and from the street door was too dim for Mr. Liakos to
see what was going on inside the warehouse. As he stood there on the
threshold, he saw that his arrival was ill-timed; for there was a
dispute in progress. Although he did not understand, or even try to
understand what it was all about, he heard hot words bandied back and
forth, and above them he could distinguish the merchant's voice, loud
and masterful.

The judge stopped in surprise. He had heard of the old gentleman's
temper, but had not imagined that anger could raise to such a pitch a
voice usually so calm and dignified. He was alarmed and was trying to
slip away unseen, when Mr. Mitrophanis interrupted the discussion and
called out to him from the depths of the warehouse:

"What do you wish, Mr. Liakos?"

"I came to say a few words; but I see you're engaged, and will come
again some other time."

"Pass into my office, and I will be with you in a moment."

The judge stumbled over some coffee bags, and, making his way into the
office, sat down by the merchant's table in the only chair that was
vacant. The air was heavy with the odor of colonial merchandise. The
dispute began anew inside the warehouse, and the words, "weight,"
"bags," "Custom House," were repeated over and over again. Mr. Liakos
sat listening to the noise, and tried to picture to himself the quiet
old gentleman who had been out walking with his two daughters the night
before. At last the commotion quieted down, and Mr. Mitrophanis came in
with a frown on his face.

"I have happened on an unlucky time for my call," thought the judge.

"I suppose you come from Mr. Plateas," began the old man, with a touch
of irony in his tone.

"Yes; the fact is he has communicated to me the conversation he had with
you this morning."

"I must say, Mr. Liakos, that your anxiety to find a husband for my
elder daughter seems to me rather marked."

"I assure you, sir, that my friend's proposal was wholly voluntary, and
was in no wise prompted by me."

The old gentleman smiled incredulously.

"My only regret is," continued the judge, "that I allowed Mr. Plateas to
discover my secret yesterday. I protest I never had the least thought of
urging him to this step; he has taken it of his own accord, and you do
me wrong in supposing that I have acted from self-interest."

"I believe it, since you say so, and will not stop to inquire how it
happens that he should ask me for the hand of my daughter, whom he does
not know, the very day after receiving your confidence.

"But however that may be," he went on, without letting Mr. Liakos speak,
"I cannot give you an immediate reply; I must have time to consider the
question. Pray do not trouble yourself to call; I will make my decision
known to you." The last words were spoken dryly.

The judge went away much disconcerted. It was not a refusal that he had
received, nor yet was it a consent; his most serious disquiet was caused
by the old man's tone and manner. Although they might have arisen partly
from the dispute in the warehouse, it was only too clear that his deep
interest in the success of his mission had been as detrimental in
awakening the merchant's suspicions as in checking his own eloquence.

How many things he could have said to Mr. Mitrophanis if he had only
dared! He felt that his mediation had simply made matters worse, and
might prove fatal. A more skilful diplomatist than he would be needed to
conduct the affair to a happy ending; why had he not acted on his first
impulse and consulted his cousin? Why not go to her even now? Surely his
friend could not be offended, especially if the result was successful;
the poor judge was in trouble, and longed for encouragement and support;
but while he reasoned with himself, his feet were carrying him to his
cousin's house, and by the time he reached her door, all his doubt had
vanished.

Mr. Liakos found his kinswoman at work converting a jacket of her elder
son, which had become too small for its owner, into a garment still too
ample for the younger brother. The boys were at school, while their
three sisters--who came between them in age--were studying their lessons
under their mother's eye, and at the same time learning domestic economy
from her example.

Being a woman of tact, she saw at once from the judge's manner that he
wished to speak with her alone, and sent the girls out to play.

"Well, what is it?" she asked as soon as they had left the room. "What's
the news?"

"Why should you think there is any news?"

"Ah, indeed! As if I didn't know you! I could see at a glance that you
had something on your mind."

In truth, her feminine insight was seldom at fault in reading Mr.
Liakos, for she had seen him grow up from a child, and knew him
thoroughly. On his side, the judge flattered himself that he knew her
quite as well, but then he ought to have foreseen that her help would
not be easily enlisted in an affair that she had not been allowed to
manage from the beginning. She enjoyed busying herself with marriages in
general and with those of her friends in particular; but she felt that
she was peculiarly qualified to assume the chief part in planning and
carrying out arrangements of this kind, and unless her claims were
recognized, she rarely gave her approval, and even did not hesitate to
oppose occasionally. But for his discomfiture at the result of his visit
to the old merchant, Mr. Liakos would doubtless have devised some way of
conciliating his cousin; it had not occurred to him to take that
precaution, and he soon perceived the blunder he had made.

When he announced abruptly that he had found a husband for his
sweetheart's sister, his cousin, instead of showing pleasure, or at
least some curiosity, quietly continued her sewing with affected
indifference, saying merely, "Ah!" This "Ah" was half-way between a
question and an exclamation; the judge could not tell whether it
expressed irony or simple astonishment; but it was enough to chill him.

"Everything is against me!" he thought.

"And who is your candidate?" she asked after a pause, but without
stopping her work.

"Mr. Plateas."

His cousin dropped her needle, and looked at Mr. Liakos with eyes full
of mocking surprise.

"Mr. Plateas!" she cried, and began to laugh heartily. The judge had
never seen her so merry.

"I don't see what you find to laugh at," he said, with dignity.

"You must forgive me," she replied, trying to stifle her merriment.
"Pray forgive me if I have hurt you through your friend, but I can't
imagine Mr. Plateas in love." And she began to laugh again; then seeing
the judge's expression, she asked, "What put this marriage into your
head?"

"No," he began, without answering her question, "please to tell me what
you find so reprehensible in him."

"Reprehensible!" she repeated, imitating her cousin's tone. "I don't
find him reprehensible, simply ridiculous."

"I admit that his person is not awe-inspiring."

"Awe-inspiring! What long words you use! You'll be giving me one of your
friend's quotations from Homer next."

"Listen," he said, changing his manner. "At first I looked at it just as
you do; but the more I thought it over, the more clearly I saw that I
was wrong. Mr. Plateas has all the qualities that go to make a good
husband. He will be ridiculous as a lover, I must admit. He will look
absurd on his wedding day, with the wreath of flowers on his head
[Footnote: The Greek bride and bridegroom both wear a wreath of
flowers.]---"

At this his cousin broke into a fresh peal of laughter, in which the
judge was forced to join in spite of himself. Their sudden gayety having
subsided, the conversation became more serious. Mr. Liakos related all
the details of the affair, and as his story went on he was delighted to
see his cousin's prejudices gradually disappear, although she still made
objections when they came to dissect the suitor's character.

"He is a hypochondriac!" she said.

"He takes care of his health," replied the judge, "simply because he has
nothing else to occupy him. When once he is married, he'll care for his
wife, just as he cared for his mother while she lived and his
hypochondria, as you call it, will vanish fast enough."

"He's pedantic."

"That is hardly a grave fault in a professor."

Now that the question had narrowed down to his friend's moral qualities,
Mr. Liakos began to feel certain of victory so far as his cousin was
concerned. His only remaining doubt was as to the young lady's consent.

"Her consent!" cried his cousin. "She'll accept Mr. Plateas gladly.
Since she can't persuade her father to let her remain single, she will
take the first husband that offers, rather than stand in the way of her
sister's happiness. She has the soul of an angel," the cousin went on,
with enthusiasm. "She doesn't know her own worth; she sees that she is
not pretty, and in her humility she even exaggerates her plainness; but
her sweet unselfishness is no reason why she should be sacrificed."

"Do you think, then, that it would be a sacrifice to marry Mr. Plateas?"

"How can we tell?"

His cousin's reserve was more propitious than her merriment of a few
minutes ago, and Mr. Liakos felt encouraged.

"If she were your sister, or even your daughter, would you not give her
to him?"

This question struck deeper than he knew, for one of her daughters was
not well-favored, and the girl's future was beginning to give the
maternal heart much uneasiness. The mother laughed no longer; her eyes
filled, and she made no reply. Without searching into the cause of his
cousin's emotion, the judge was only too glad to take her silence for
consent.

"Very well," he went on. "Now you must help me to arrange this
marriage."

In order to humor her innocent vanity, he pictured the obstacles that
she would find in the character of Mr. Mitrophanis, and urged his own
inability to overcome them; he frankly declared that his mediation had
compromised his friend's suit, and that the affair was far more
difficult than if it had been in her hands from the beginning; he
insisted that she alone could retrieve the mistakes committed, and bring
about a happy ending.

His cousin's objections gradually grew weaker and at last, after three
hours of argument, the judge succeeded so well that she left her work
(to the temporary disadvantage of her younger son), and put on her
bonnet. The two went out together, she to call on Mr. Mitrophanis, and
he to find the professor.




V.


Poor Mr. Plateas was waiting for his friend impatiently.

On reaching home he had found his dinner growing cold, and Florou
worrying over her master's unusual tardiness; it was full twenty minutes
after noon! Although the professor was hungry and ate with relish, his
mind was ill at ease. He yearned to talk to some one, but there was no
one to talk to. He would have been glad to tell his story even to
Florou, but she cared neither to talk nor to listen; conversation was
not her strong point.

Besides, her master rather shrank from telling her that be had made up
his mind to get married, and that her reign was over. Since his mother's
death, Florou had had absolute control over the household; why make her
unhappy before it was necessary? On the other hand, he could contain
himself no longer; if he had not spoken, there is no telling what would
have happened.

Not daring to face the question boldly, he beat about the bush, and
tried to pass adroitly from the subject of dinner to that of marriage.

"Florou," he said, "your meat is overdone."

The old woman made no reply, but looked up at the sun as if to suggest
that the fault lay not with her, but with her master's tardiness.

He paid no attention to her mute reproach.

"In fact," he went on, "the dinner isn't fit to eat to-day."

"You've eaten it, though."

Florou was in the habit of resorting to this argument as unanswerable.
Usually her master laughed and said that he had eaten his dinner because
he was hungry, and not because it was good. To-day, however, her phrase
irritated him, less on account of the words themselves, than from an
inward consciousness that this day of all others he had no right to
complain of her culinary art.

In his vexation he forgot how he had planned to lead up to the subject
of his marriage, and had to finish his dinner in silence; but while
Florou was carrying the dishes away, he thought of a new pretext for
coming back to the absorbing topic. He noticed for the first time a hole
in the tablecloth that had been there a long time.

"See there!" said he, putting his finger through it. "My house needs a
mistress,--there's no other remedy for such a state of things. I must
have a wife!"

Florou shrugged her shoulders as though she thought her master had lost
his wits.

"Do you understand me? I must get married."

The old woman smiled.

"What are you laughing at? I have quite made up my mind to marry."

Florou stared.

"I'm going to get married, I tell you!"

"And who'll have you?"

"Who will have me!" he cried, fairly choking with rage.

Almost beside himself at the old woman's effrontery, he wanted to crush
her with angry eloquence; but her stolidity baffled him, and he went up
to his room without a word. When he was alone, his anger soon cooled;
but he found himself repeating those cruel words, and as he said them
over, he began to fear that Florou was not so far wrong.

He recalled his friend's first disavowal of any thought of him as a
suitor, and the father's strange hesitation. And then, why didn't Liakos
come; what was keeping him so long? If his mission was successful, he
would have brought the news at once. The question was very simple, the
answer "yes" or "no"; it surely must be "no," and the judge was keeping
back the evil tidings.

How silly he had been to expose himself to a rebuff on the impulse of
the moment--what perfect folly! What business had he to get into such a
scrape? But no, he had only done his duty; he had proved to his
preserver the sincerity of his friendship and the depth of his
gratitude. But why didn't Liakos come? Why didn't he hurry back and end
this suspense?

The unhappy man looked at his watch again and again, and was astonished
each time at the slowness of the hands; they seemed hardly to move at
all. He sat down, then jumped up again and looked out of the window,--no
Liakos! He tried to read, but could not keep his thoughts from straying,
and shut the book petulantly. He was in a perfect fever.

Meanwhile the time came for his daily constitutional, and Mr. Plateas
was on thorns. He could not stay indoors waiting for his friend any
longer; but in order to be near at hand, he resolved to take his old
walk and go no farther than the Vaporia. So he called Florou and told
her that he would not be gone long, but that if Mr. Liakos should come,
she must send him to the Vaporia. He explained with great care the route
he would take in going and in coming back, so that Florou might tell his
friend exactly. All this was quite unnecessary, for the road to the
Vaporia was so direct that the two friends could hardly help meeting
unless they went out of their way to avoid each other; but he insisted
upon his topographical directions, and repeated them so often that
Florou at last lost her patience, and exclaimed:

"Very well, very well!"

It was most unusual for the old woman to say the same word twice.

Not a living soul was to be seen on the Vaporia, and Mr. Plateas was
able to follow the course of his thoughts undisturbed. To tell the
truth, his ideas rather lacked sequence, and were much the same thing
over and over; but they were so engrossing that he had not quoted a line
of Homer all day. If this worry had lasted much longer, it would have
effected what all his exercise and sea-bathing had failed to accomplish;
the poor man would certainly have been reduced to a shadow.

And still Liakos did not come! For a moment the professor thought of
going to look for his friend; bat where should he go? The judge had
promised to come, and Florou had been told to get supper for both;
Liakos MUST come.

But why didn't he come now? Mr. Plateas paced up and down the Vaporia
twenty times at least, and although he kept looking toward his house,
there was no sign of the judge. At last! At last he saw his friend
coming in the distance.

"Well, is it 'yes' or 'no'?" he cried, as soon as he was near enough to
be heard.

"Do let me get my breath first."

From the expression of the poor man's face Mr. Liakos feared that "no"
would be more welcome than "yes."

"Can he have repented?" thought the judge; then, taking Mr. Plateas
affectionately by the arm, he turned back to prolong the walk, and tried
to soothe his friend's amour propre.

"Don't be troubled; she's not a silly girl, but has good sense and good
judgment. She will treat your offer as an honor, and will be happy to
have a man like you for a husband."

"Never mind about that," said the professor, in a calmer tone. "Tell me
how the matter really stands. What have you been doing all this time?"

In relating his story, Mr. Liakos did not tell his friend everything. He
passed over the stiffness of Mr. Mitrophanis as well as his cousin's
unseemly mirth, and urged so skillfully the need of her good offices as
to disarm all objection; he had left the affair in his cousin's charge,
and secured her promise to send him word of the result at the
professor's house. This was the substance of the conversation; but Mr.
Plateas asked so many questions and the judge had to repeat each detail
so often, that the sun was setting when the two friends went back to do
justice to Florou's supper.

They had scarcely finished when there was a knock at the door, and
Florou came in with a note for Mr. Liakos.

Mr. Plateas rose, napkin in hand, and leaned over his friend's chair,
eagerly following the words as the judge read aloud:

"MY DEAR COUSIN,--Bring your friend to my house this evening; the young
lady will be there. Come early. YOUR COUSIN."

"What did I tell you!" cried Mr. Liakos, joyfully. "Come, you must get
ready."

Mr. Plateas looked very serious; the idea of meeting the young girl made
him nervous. What should he say to her? How should he behave? Besides,
he was not yet sure of being accepted! Why hadn't the message been a
plain "yes" or "no"? The judge had difficulty in persuading Mr. Plateas
that the invitation was in itself an assurance of success, and that his
cousin and he would do their best to lessen the embarrassment of the
meeting. Taking upon himself the duties of valet, Mr. Liakos
superintended the poor man's toilet, and having made him look as fine as
possible, marched him off.

He would have given almost anything to be well out of the scrape, but it
was too late to retreat now.

As they went along, the judge tried in vain to impart some of his own
high spirits to his faint-hearted friend. He was brimming over with
gladness at the thought of his marriage, which now seemed assured. After
so long a separation he was about to see his betrothed, for he felt sore
that she would come with her sister. Mr. Plateas had no such reasons for
rejoicing. He walked on in silence, paying little heed to his friend's
gay sallies; he was trying to think what he should say to the young
lady, but nothing came to him.

"By the way," he broke in suddenly, "what is her name?"

"Whose?"

"I mean my future wife. Yesterday I had to let her father see that I
didn't even know her name. I mustn't make that mistake to-night!"

At this Mr. Liakos broke into a merry laugh; he was in such high good-
humor that he found fun in everything. His companion did not laugh, but
repeated:

"What is her name?"

The judge was about to reply when he heard some one coming toward them
call out in the darkness:

"Liakos, is that you?"

It was his cousin's husband, who brought word that he was not to be
present at the interview. The tactful cousin had felt that it would be
better to leave the young lady alone with her suitor; then, too, the
younger sister would not come, and the presence of Mr. Liakos was quite
unnecessary; her instructions were that he should spend the evening with
her husband at the club.

Mr. Plateas felt his knees give way under him. What--go in and face the
two ladies all alone! No, decidedly he hadn't the courage for that. But
his supporters, one on either side, urged and encouraged the unhappy man
until they reached the threshold, when the door opened and they pushed
him in, regardless of his protests, then closed it again, and went off
to the club.

When Mr. Liakos learned that his sweetheart was not coming, he submitted
to his banishment with stoicism; but it seemed to him that the evening
at the club would never come to an end. About ten o'clock a servant came
to say that Mr. Plateas was waiting for him; he rushed downstairs and
found his friend in the street. By the light of a street lamp the judge
saw at once from the expression of the suitor's face that the visit had
been a complete success. The professor looked like another man.

"Well?" asked Mr. Liakos, eagerly.

"I tell you, she isn't plain at all!" exclaimed Mr. Plateas. "When she
speaks her voice is like music, and she has a charming expression! As
for her little hand,--it's simply exquisite!"

"You kissed it, I suppose?" said the judge.

"Of course I did!"

"What did you say, and what did she say to you?"

"As though I could tell you everything! The idea!" Then lowering his
voice, he added: "Do you know what she said to me? She told me she was
glad and grateful that I had asked her to marry me through friendship
for you, because such a good friend must make a good husband. I begged
her not to say that, else I could not help thinking that she accepted me
only out of love for her sister.

"'And why not?' she said gently. 'What sweeter source could the
happiness of our future have?'"

Mr. Liakos was touched.

"But really," his friend went on, "I can't begin to tell you everything
now. One thing is certain,--I've found a perfect treasure!"

"Did I not tell you so?"

"Yes, but you haven't told me her name, and I didn't dare ask her. What
is it?"

The judge bent over and whispered the name that his friend longed to
hear.

"There, you know it now."

"Yes, at last!" and the two friends parted,--the one went home with a
new joy in his heart, saying over the name he had just learned, while
the other softly repeated the name so long dear to him.

A few weeks later, the first Sunday after Easter there was a high
festival in the old merchant's house to celebrate the marriage of his
two daughters. Of the bridegrooms, Mr. Liakos was not the merrier, for
now that his dearest hopes were realized, his soul was filled with a
quiet happiness that left no room for words. Mr. Plateas, on the other
hand, was overflowing with delight, and his spirits seemed contagious,
for all the wedding guests laughed with him. Even His Eminence the
Archbishop of Tenos and Syra, who had blessed the double marriage, was
jovial with the rest, and showed his learning by wishing the happy
couples joy in a line from Homer:

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