Генрик Сенкевич
Children of the Soil
CHAPTER LXV
There were grievous days yet, and very grievous. Such weakness came on Marynia that her life began to quiver, like the flame of a taper. Would it quench, or would it flicker up again? At moments all were convinced that the flame was just, just dying. Still youth, and the relief brought by the coming of a child to the world, turned the scale on the life side. On a certain day the sick woman woke after long sleep, and seemed healthier. The old doctor in attendance, who witnessed the improvement, wished to convince himself more clearly that there was no deception, and asked to call in a physician with whom he had held counsel earlier. Pan Stanislav went to find him, and drove himself out of his mind almost while searching the city half a day for him; he did not dare hope yet that that turn in her sickness and in his misfortune was decisive. When at last he found the hunted doctor and brought him to the house, Pani Bigiel received him in the room adjoining the sick chamber, with moist eyelids, but with a glad face, and said, —
“She is better! decidedly better.”
The woman could not say more, for tears flowed from her eyes. Pan Stanislav grew pale from emotion; but she controlled her delight with an effort, and said, smiling through her tears, —
“She is fighting for food now. A while since she asked to have the child brought. She asked also why you did not come. But now she is fighting for food; and how she is fighting! Ah, praise be to God! Praise be to God!”
And in her excitement she threw her arms around Pan Stanislav; then he kissed her hand and did not take it from his mouth for a long time. He trembled in every limb in the struggle to repress his delight, and also the groans which had gathered in him through many days of dread and torture, and which sought to burst forth now in spite of every effort.
Meanwhile the doctors came to Marynia, and sat rather long at her bedside. When the consultation was over, and they appeared again, satisfaction was evident on their faces. After Pan Stanislav’s feverish inquiry, the doctor in regular attendance, an impetuous old man, with gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, and a golden heart in his breast, happy himself now, but greatly wearied, said, grumbling, —
“How is she? Go and thank God, – that is what!”
And Pan Stanislav went. Even had he been a man without belief, he would have gone at that moment, and thanked God with a heart swollen from tears and thankfulness, for having taken pity on him and let the wave return in the guise of pain and suffering, and not in the guise of death.
Later, when he had calmed himself, he went on tiptoe to his wife’s room, where Pani Bigiel was. Marynia was gazing straight ahead with gladsome eyes, and at the first glance it was evident that she was much better really. When she saw him, she said, —
“Ah, see, Stas – I am well!”
“Well, my love,” answered Pan Stanislav, quietly. It was not time yet for outbursts; therefore he sat down in silence near her bed. But after a while joy and great feeling for her overcame him so far that, bending down, he embraced with both hands her feet covered with the quilt, and, putting his face down to them, remained motionless.
And she, though very weak yet, smiled with satisfaction. She looked some time at him; then, just like a child which is happy because it is fondled, she said to Pani Bigiel, pointing with her transparent finger to that dark head nestled at her feet, —
“He loves me!”
Next day Marynia felt still stronger, and from that moment almost every hour brought improvement. At last that was not a gradual return to health, but a bloom, as it were, a sudden return of spring after winter, which astonished the doctor himself. Pan Stanislav wanted at moments to shout from the joy which was stifling him, as formerly sorrow had stifled. They kept Marynia in bed still, through excess of caution; but when her strength, her bloom, her wish for life, her humor, had returned, she began to call people to her, and say every evening that she would rise from her bed on the morrow. In one respect only the long illness and weakness had brought a change in her manner, which was to pass, however, with other traces of sickness. This was it, – she, who had been such a calm and wise woman formerly, had become for a certain time a kind of spoiled child, who insisted on various things frequently, and felt a real disappointment if they were refused. Pan Stanislav, in speaking with her, entered involuntarily into her tone, hence those “grimaces” were an occasion also of merriment.
Once she began to complain to him that Pani Bigiel would not give her red wine. Pani Bigiel explained that she gave as much as the doctor permitted, and must wait for permission to give more. Pan Stanislav set about comforting Marynia at once, speaking to her just as he used to speak formerly to Litka, —
“They will give the child wine, – they will give it! – the moment the doctor comes.”
To which Marynia said, “Red!”
“But how red must it be!” answered Pan Stanislav; and then both began to laugh, and Pani Bigiel with them. As some time before, the fear of death and misfortune had hung over that room, so now it was lighted with frequent joy, as with sunlight. At times they fell into perfect humor, and grandfather Plavitski formed part of the company too on occasions. He, since the advent to the world of his grandson, had grown full of patriarchal, but kindly importance, which did not drive away merriment. It was varied, however, for at times a lofty and solemn manner gained the upper hand in him. On a certain day he brought his will, and forced all to listen to its paragraphs from beginning to end. In the touching words of the introduction he took farewell of life, of his daughter, of Pan Stanislav, and of his grandson, not sparing directions regarding the education of the latter into a good grandson, a good son, a good father, and a good citizen; then he made him heir of all he possessed. And in spite of the fact that since Mashko’s bankruptcy he possessed only as much as Pan Stanislav gave him, still he was moved by his own munificence and preserved all that evening the mien of a pelican, which nourishes its young with its own proper blood.
A person who returns to the world after a grievous illness passes anew through all the periods of childhood and first youth, with this difference only, – that that which formerly was counted by years is counted now by weeks, or even days. So it was with Marynia. Pam Bigiel, who at first called her “baby,” said, in laughing, that gradually “baby” had changed into a little girl, the little girl into a maiden. But the maiden began to find her feminine coquetry. Now, when they combed her hair, she insisted that they should place on her knees a small mirror, which she had received from her mother; and she looked into it carefully, to see if Pani Bigiel’s promise that “afterward she would be still more beautiful,” was being justified. On the first occasions the examinations did not satisfy her over-much, but afterwards more and more. At last she gave command one day to bring the mirror again, after her hair was dressed; and once more she made a thorough review of her complexion, her eyes, her mouth, her hair, her expression, – in a word, of everything which there was to look at. And the review must have turned out well, for she began to smile, and grow radiant; at last she turned toward Pan Stanislav’s chamber, threatening with her thin fist, and said, with a very aggressive mien, —
“But wait now, Pan Stas!”
In truth, she had never been so comely. Her complexion, always very pure, had become still clearer, and more lily-like than it was when Pan Ignas had lost his head, and rhymed from morning till evening about it. Besides, the first rosy dawn of health was shining on her cheeks. From her eyes, from her mouth, from her face, which had grown smaller after sickness, there shone a species of light, a rebirth into life, a spring. It was a wonderful head simply, full of bright and clear colors, and at the same time of delicate outline, – really exquisite, and, as Pan Ignas had expressed himself once, belonging to the field, so wonderful that at moments, when it was lying on the pillow, and on its own dark hair, it was not possible to look at it sufficiently. That so-called “Pan Stas,” who saw everything clearly, and who, according to the description of Bigiel, “could not move hand or foot from love,” did not need to “wait” at all. Not only did he love her now as a woman and one dear to him, but he felt for her gratitude beyond bounds because she had not died, and he showed his gratitude by striving to divine her thoughts. Marynia had not even imagined at any time that she would become to such a degree the motive of his life, the sight of his eye, the soul of his thought and activity. Never had it been disagreeable to them with each other; but now, with Marynia’s return to health, an unexampled happiness, an unexampled delight, came to their household.
And young Polanyetski, too, contributed actively. Marynia was not able to nourish him herself; and her husband, foreseeing this, got a nurse for his son. Wishing, moreover, to give the sick woman pleasure, he brought in an old acquaintance of hers in Kremen. She had served once with the Plavitskis; after their departure she happened in Yalbrykov, and there a misfortune befell her. It was never known strictly who the cause was; but if it was possible to reproach any of the greater proprietors with want of love for the people, it was not possible to reproach Pan Gantovski, for all Yalbrykov was full of proofs of how Gantovski loved the people. Even in the negotiations about peasant privileges of the co-residents of Yalbrykov, among other points raised was this, – that “the lord heir rides on a white horse, shoots from pistols, and looks into the girls’ eyes;” and if on the one hand it was not easy to see what particular connection the above habits of Gantovski had with the agreements about peasant privileges, it became perfectly clear on the other that, thanks to those habits, Pan Stanislav found with ease a nurse for his son in Yalbrykov.
But as that was a youthful, vigorous, and buxom Mazovian, the young man could only succeed in her care. In general, that little Polanyetski was a personage who, from the first moment of his arrival in the world, became more and more a lord in the house, not counting with any one, nor thinking of anything, save his own wants and pleasures. According to his method, in moments free from sleep and feasting, he occupied himself with noise-making, and the development of his little lungs, by means of a cry which was as piercing as his early age could attain. At such times he was brought frequently to Marynia. On those occasions endless sessions began, at which all his physical and mental traits were investigated minutely, as well as every striking resemblance to his life-givers. It was asserted that he had the nose of his mother, the remark of his nurse, that he had a nose like a cat, being rejected with remarkable unanimity; it was settled, also, that he would have an immensely interesting smile; that he would be dark, with brown hair; that he would be tall without fail; that he was very lively, and would have an astonishing memory. Pani Bigiel, while Marynia was lying in bed, made, also, on her own account, various discoveries, which she announced to all in general. Once she rushed into Marynia’s room with delight and haste worthy of every recognition, and said, —
“Imagine to thyself, he spread out his little fingers on one hand, and with the other thou wouldst swear that he was counting. He’ll be a mathematician, beyond doubt.”
And Marynia answered in all seriousness, —
“Then he’ll take after his father.”
Still she made a discovery earlier, even with reference to date, than all those of Pani Bigiel, – namely, that he was “a dear little love of a creature.” As to Pan Stanislav, at the first moment he looked at the new acquaintance with astonishment and a certain distrust. In his time he had wished greatly to have a daughter, with this reason chiefly, that, being in make-up of heart a great child-man, he imagined that he could give all the tenderness in him only to a girl. There was sticking in him, it is unknown why, an idea that a son would be some kind of a big lump of a fellow with mustaches almost, speaking in a bass voice, snorting somewhat like a horse, whom it would not be worth while to approach with tenderness, for he would hold it in contempt. Only gradually, after looking at this little figure sleeping on pillows, did he begin to reach the conviction that not only was that no big “lump of a boy,” but simply a poor little thing, deserving of tenderness, small, weak, defenceless, needing care and love as much as any little girl in the world. At last he said to himself, “So he is that kind of boy!” And thenceforth he became more and more tender toward the little thing; and after a few days he even tried to carry him to Marynia, which, however, he did with such an amount of purely superfluous caution, and also so awkwardly, that he brought to laughter, not only Marynia and Pani Bigiel, but, with a loss to his own dignity, even the nurse.
And laughter was heard now in the dwelling of the Polanyetskis from morning till evening. Both, waking in the morning, woke with that happy feeling that the day would bring them new delight. Bigiel, who, from the time that Marynia left her bed, was admitted in the evening with his violoncello, looking at their life, said once, after a moment of necessary meditation, “Misfortune may come to good people, as to every one; but when it is well for them, as God lives, it is better for no one else.”
And, in truth, life was pleasant for them. Marynia, according to what she had heard in her time from Pani Bigiel, and what she thought herself, judged that the cause of this new bloom of love in her husband was the child, which bound them by new bonds. One day she began even to speak of this to Pan Stanislav; but he answered with all simplicity, —
“No; I give thee my word! I love him in his way; but thee I loved already fabulously before he came to the world, for thyself, because thou art as thou art. Look around,” said he, “think what is going on in the world; and to whom can I compare thee?”
Then, taking her hands, he began to kiss them, not only with immense love, but also with the greatest respect, and added, —
“Thou wilt never know what thou art for me, and how I love thee.”
But, nestling up to him, she asked, with a face bright as the sun in heaven, —
“Indeed, Stas, shall I never know? Try to tell me.”
CHAPTER LXVI
The christening came. Immediately after his arrival in the world, the young man had been baptized with water by Pani Bigiel, to whom, impressed by the sickness of the mother, it seemed that the little one might die any moment. But he had not even thought of that, and had waited, in the best of health and appetite, for the time of the solemnity, in which he was to play the leading part. Pan Stanislav had invited all his acquaintances. Besides people of the house, and grandfather Plavitski, there were Pani Emilia, who, for that day, had rallied the remnant of her strength, the Bigiels, with the little Bigiels, Professor Vaskovski, Svirski, Pan Ignas, and Panna Ratkovski. Pani Polanyetski, now in health, and happy, looked so enchanting that Svirski, gazing at her, caught his hair with both hands, and said, with his usual outspokenness, —
“This just passes every understanding! As God lives! a man might lose his eyes.”
“Well,” said Pan Stanislav, puffing with satisfaction, and with that conceit evident in him that he had always seen that which others saw only now for the first time.
But Svirski answered, —
“Kneel down, nations! I will say nothing further.”
Marynia was confused at hearing this, but flushed with pleasure, feeling that Svirski was right. She had, however, to occupy herself with the guests and the ceremony, and all the more since a certain disorder had crept in, to begin with. The first couple, Pani Emilia and Bigiel, were to hold little Stas; the second couple were Panna Ratkovski and Svirski. Meanwhile, this last man began to create unexpected difficulties, discovering hindrances, and evading, it was unknown why. “He would be very glad – he had come from Italy purposely – of course. That was an arranged affair; but he had never before held a child at a christening, therefore he didn’t know if his god-child would remain in good health, and especially if he would have luck with women.” At this Pan Stanislav laughed, and called him a superstitious Italian, but Marynia divined the trouble more quickly. She took advantage of the moment in which he had pushed back toward the window to escape, and whispered, —
“A gossip15 of the second couple is no hindrance in this case.”
Svirski raised his eyes to her, then laughed, showing his small sound teeth, and said on a sudden, turning to Panna Ratkovski, —
“It is true, this is only in the second couple; therefore, I will serve you.”
All surrounded the little Stas, who, in the arms of the nurse, and dressed in muslin and lace, looked valiant, with his bald spot and his staring round eyes, in which the external world was reflected as mechanically as in a mirror. Bigiel took him now in his arms, and the ceremony began.
Those present listened with due attention to the solemn sacramental words, but the young pagan exhibited exceptional hardness of heart. First he began to kick, so that he half freed himself from Bigiel’s arms; later, when Bigiel, in his name, renounced the devil and his works, the young man did all in his power to drown the words. It was only when he saw, all at once, in the midst of his screaming, Bigiel’s spectacles, that he stopped suddenly, as if to let people know that if there are such astonishing objects in the world, it is a different thing.
However, the ceremony ended, and immediately after they gave him into the hands of the nurse, who put him into a splendid cradle, in the form of a wagon, the gift of Svirski, and wished to roll him out of the room. But Svirski, who never in his life, perhaps, had seen so nearly such a small person, and in whose breast beat a heart long yearning for fatherhood, stopped the nurse, and, bending down to the cradle, took the child in his arms.
“Carefully, carefully!” cried Pan Stanislav, pushing up quickly.
But the artist turned to him, and said, —
“Sir, I have held in my hands the works of Luca della Robbia.”
And, in fact, he lifted the little creature, and began to swing him with as much dexterity as if he had had care of children all his life. Then he approached Professor Vaskovski, and asked, —
“Well, what does the beloved professor think of his young Aryan?”
“What?” answered the old man, looking with tenderness at the child; “naturally, an Aryan, an Aryan of purest water.”
“And a coming missionary,” added Pan Stanislav.
“He will not turn from that in the future; he will not evade, just as you cannot evade,” answered the professor.
It was not possible, in fact, to prejudge the future; but for the moment the young Aryan avoided all missions in a manner so unmistakable, and simply insulting, that it was necessary to give him to the nurse. The ladies, however, did not cease to smack their lips at him, and to be charmed with him, until they came to a decisive conclusion that he was a perfectly exceptional child, that his whole bearing showed this clearly, and that any one must be without eyes not to see that that would be the nicest man in the country, and, moreover, a genius.
But the “genius” fell asleep at last, as if he had been stunned by the incense, and meanwhile lunch was served. Marynia, in spite of all her friendship for the artist, seated Pan Ignas next to Panna Ratkovski. She wished, as, for that matter, all wished, not excepting even Svirski, that something should be made clear in their relations, for Pan Ignas acted strangely. Svirski held that he was not yet entirely normal. He was healthy; he slept and ate well; he had grown a little heavier; he spoke with judgment, even more deliberately than had been his habit, – but there appeared in him a certain infirmity of will, a certain lack of that initiative for which he had been so distinguished before. In Italy he grew radiant at remembrance of Panna Ratkovski; and when he spoke of her his eyes filled with tears at times. On his return, when some one reminded him that it would be well to make a visit to Panna Ratkovski, and especially when that one offered to go with him, he answered, “It is true,” and he went with delight. But the visit made, it seemed as though he did not remember her existence. At times it was evident that in the depth of his soul something was troubling him, swallowing all his mental force. Svirski supposed for a while that it might be the remembrance of Panna Castelli; but he convinced himself, with a certain astonishment, that it was not, and at last he began to think that Pan Ignas never mentioned her because he had lost the feeling that she was real, or that she seemed to him now an impression so remote, a remembrance so blown apart, that it could not be brought into a real living whole. He was not melancholy. On the contrary, one might note at times in him satisfaction with life and the joy which he experienced, as it were, in this his second birth in it. Really sad, more and more confined in herself, and increasingly quiet, was Panna Ratkovski. It may be that, besides a lack of mutual feeling, other things in Pan Ignas alarmed her; but she did not mention those alarms to any one. Marynia and Pani Bigiel, judging that the only cause of her sadness was the conduct of Pan Ignas, showed the most heartfelt sympathy, and were ready to do anything to help her. Marynia saw Pan Ignas now for the first time since his return from Italy; but Pani Bigiel spoke to him daily, praising Panna Ratkovski, reminding him how much he owed her, and giving him to understand more and more clearly that it was his duty to pay something of the debt which he owed her. The honest Svirski, to the detriment of his own hopes, repeated the same to him; and Pan Ignas agreed to everything, but, as it were, unwillingly, or without being able to add the final conclusion. He spoke of his approaching second trip abroad, of plans of still greater journeys in the future, – in a word, of things which, by their nature, excluded the co-operation of Panna Ratkovski.
And now, sitting side by side, they spoke little to each other. Pan Ignas ate abundantly, and with appetite, even with attention; he followed with his eyes the new courses which were served first to the elder guests. Panna Ratkovski, noticing this, looked on him at moments, as if with painful sympathy. At last this began to vex Marynia; so, wishing to rouse a conversation between them, she said, bending over the table, —
“You have come so recently from travels, tell me and Steftsia something of Italy. Hast thou never been there, Steftsia?”
“I have not,” answered Panna Ratkovski; “but not long since I read the account of a journey – but to read and to see are different.”
And she blushed slightly, for she had betrayed the fact that she had been reading about Italy just when Pan Ignas was there.
“Pan Svirski persuaded me to go as far as Sicily,” said he, “but it was hot there at that time; that would be the place to visit at this season.”
“Ah!” said Marynia, “it is well that I think of it – but my letters? You asked through Pan Svirski if I wished you to write your impressions, but afterward I did not receive a single letter.”
Pan Ignas blushed; he was confused, and then in a kind of strange and uncertain voice, answered, —
“No, for I have not been able yet; I will write very much, but later.”
Having heard these words, Svirski approached Marynia after lunch, and indicating Pan Ignas with his eyes, said, —
“Do you know the impression which he makes on me sometimes? – that of a costly vessel which is cracked.”
