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."