Children of the Soil

by Henryk Sienkiewicz

Next morning after the arrival of the Polanyetskis in Kremen, it was Sunday. Pan Stanislav himself rose late, for they had come at one o’clock the night previous. In Kremen the servants had been waiting with bread and salt for them. Marynia, laughing and weeping in turn, examined every corner in the house, and after that was unable to fall asleep, from emotion, till almost daylight. For all these reasons Pan Stanislav did not permit her to rise; but since she wanted to go to Mass at Vantory rather early, so as to pray at the church for her mother, he promised to have the carriage ready, and let her know when it was time. Immediately after breakfast he went out to look at his new inheritance. It was the second half of May, and the day was exceptionally beautiful. Rain had fallen in the night, and the sun was shining on little pools in the yard; and on the buildings it was reflected in diamond brightness in raindrops hanging on the leaves, and it made the wet roofs of the barns, cow-houses, and sheep-houses gleam. In that glitter, and in the bright May green of the trees, Kremen seemed altogether charming. Around the buildings there was hardly any movement, for it was Sunday; but at the stable were busied some men, who had to drive to church. This silence and sleepiness struck Pan Stanislav strangely. Having intended for some time to buy Kremen, he had been there repeatedly, and knew that it was a neglected property. Mashko had begun, it is true, to build a granary, which was covered with a red roof, but he had not finished it. He had never lived in the place himself, and toward the end could not expend anything on the property, hence neglect was visible at every step. But never had it seemed to Pan Stanislav neglected so absolutely as now, when he was able to say to himself, “This is mine.” The buildings were somehow leaning; the walls in them not very solid; the fences were inclining and broken; under the walls were lying fragments of various broken agricultural implements. Everywhere the earth seemed desirous of drawing into itself that which was on its surface; everywhere was seen a kind of passive abandonment of things to themselves; everywhere carelessness was visible. Of agriculture Pan Stanislav knew only this, that there was need to be careful in expenses; for the rest, he had not the least conception of it, save some general information, which had struck his ears in childhood. But, looking at his kingdom, he divined that cultivation of its fields must coincide exactly with that carelessness which he saw around; he had a clear feeling that if anything was done there it was rather from custom, from routine, as it were, and because of this alone, that some such thing had been done ten, twenty, a hundred years earlier. That exertion, that untiring, watchful energy, which is the basis of commerce, of industry, and of city industry in general,—of that there was not a trace. “If I brought nothing more than that to this torpor,” said Pan Stanislav, “it would be very much, for there is an absolute lack of energy. Besides, I have money, and at least this much knowledge,—that I know to begin with that I know nothing, and second, I know that I must learn and inquire.” He remembered, besides, from his Belgian times, that even abroad, even there in Belgium, the spirit of man and the exertion of will meant more than the most powerful machines. And in this regard he counted on himself, and he was able to count. He felt that he was a persistent and active man. Everything taken in hand by him hitherto had to move, whether it would or not. He felt, besides, that in business he had a head that was not fantastic, but one reckoning accurately; and, thanks to this feeling, not only did he not lose confidence at sight of the neglect which he saw before him, but he found in it something like a spur. That torpor, that neglect, that inertia, that sleepiness, seemed to challenge him; and, casting his eyes around, he said to them almost with pleasure, “That’s all right; we’ll have a trial!” And he was even in a hurry for the trial.

These first reviews and thoughts did not spoil his humor, but took much time. Looking at his watch, he saw that if he wished to be in Vantory for Mass, it was time to start at once; giving the order, then, to attach the horses, he returned hastily to the house, and knocked at Marynia’s door.

“Lady heiress!” called he, “the service of God!”

“Yes, yes!” answered the gladsome voice of Marynia through the door, “I am ready.”

Pan Stanislav went in, and saw her in a light summer robe, like that in which he saw her at his first visit in Kremen. She had dressed thus purposely; and he, to her great delight, understood her intention, for he exclaimed, stretching out his hands to her,—

“Panna Plavitski!”

And she, as if embarrassed, put her nose up to his face, and pointed to the cradle, in which Stas was sleeping.

Then they drove to the church with Papa Plavitski. It was a spring day, bright, full of warm breezes and gladness. In the groves the cuckoos were calling, and on the fields striding storks were visible. Along the road hoopoos and magpies flew from tree to tree before the carriage. From time to time a breeze sprang up and flew over the green fleeces, as over waves, bending the blades of grass, and forming quivering shades on the green of the fields. Around about was the odor of the soil, of grass, of spring. He and she were seized by a swarm of reminiscences. In her was called forth, though a little blunted by life in the city, that love of hers for land, and the country, the forest and green fields, the fruits in the fields, the pastures narrowing in the distance, the broad expanses of air, and that extent of the sky which is far greater than in cities. All this filled her with a half-conscious feeling which verged on the intoxication of delight. And Pan Stanislav remembered how once, in the same way, he had ridden to church with Pan Plavitski, and how, in like manner, the hoopoos and magpies flew from tree to tree before him. But now he felt at his side that rosy woman, whom he had seen then for the first time,—that former Panna Plavitski. In one word, he made present in his mind all that had taken place between them: the first acquaintance, and that charm with which she possessed him; their later disagreement; that strange part which Litka played in their lives; their marriage, later life, and the hesitations of happiness; the changes which, under the influence of that clear spirit, took place in him, and the present clearing up of life. He had also a blissful feeling that the evil had passed; that he had found more than he had dreamed of; that at present, it is true, misfortunes of every kind might come on him; but with reference to relations with her, his life had become clear once for all, and very honorable, almost equally the same as “the service of God,” and as much more sunny than the past as that horizon which surrounded them was sunnier than that of the city. At this thought, happiness and affection for her overflowed his heart. Arriving at Vantory, he repeated “eternal repose” for the soul of that mother to whom he was thankful for such a wife, with no less devotion than Marynia herself. It seemed to him that he loved that dust, buried under the church, with the same filial affection as the dust of his own mother.

But now the bell sounded for Mass. In the church again old memories thronged into his mind. Everything around him was known somehow, so that at moments he felt the illusion that he had been there yesterday. The nave of the church was filled with the same gray crowd of peasants, and the odor of sweet flag; the same priest was celebrating Mass at the altar: the same birch branches, moved by the breeze, were striking the window from the outside; and Pan Stanislav thought again, as before, that everything passes, life passes, pains pass, hopes, impulses, pass, directions of thought and whole systems of philosophy pass, but Mass, as of old, is celebrated, as if in it alone were eternal indestructibility. Marynia alone was a new form in the old picture. Pan Stanislav, looking at moments on her calm face, and her eyes raised to the altar, divined that she was praying with her whole soul for their future life in the country; hence he accommodated himself to her, and prayed with her.

But after Mass, on the church square, neighbors surrounded them, old acquaintances of Pan Plavitski and Marynia. Plavitski, however, looked around in vain for Pani Yamish; she had been in the city for a number of days. Councillor Yamish was cured completely from catarrh of the stomach; and therefore well, and made young, at the sight of Marynia he fell into genuine enthusiasm.