25 May.
To-day is the third day since our conversation, and as Aniela has not referred to it again, I remain. She does not say much to me, nor does she avoid me altogether, fearing to attract notice. I try to be good, friendly, and attentive, but do not thrust myself in her way. I want her to think I keep my feeling under control, but she cannot help seeing it is there, and increasing every moment. At any rate we have a little world to ourselves, where only we two dwell; we have our mutual secret from the others. When we speak about indifferent topics we both know that at the bottom of our hearts there is something we both think about but do not put into words. This forms a tie; time and patience will do the rest. From my love I weave a thousand threads around her, which will bind us more and more. This would be all in vain if she loved her husband; it would make her hate me. But the past speaks in my favor, and the present does not not belong to Kromitzki. I still think it over with the greatest impartiality, and I come to the same conclusion, that she cannot love him. Aniela"s resistance is the inward struggle of an exceptionally pure soul, that does not allow a breath of faithlessness to come near it. But she is without help in that struggle. I know the resistance will be long, and difficult to overcome; I must always be on the watch, give a clear account to myself of every trifle, and weave around her strong and invisible threads. Even if I should commit any mistakes they will be only, the result of my love, and as such will be rather a help than a hindrance.
26 May.
I told Sniatynski about my intention to have my Roman collections conveyed to Warsaw,--calculating that it would reach the press, which could not fail to laud me up to the sky as a public benefactor. Aniela involuntarily must compare me to Kromitzki, which will count in my favor. I sent also a telegram to Rome, asking for the Sa.s.soferrato.
During breakfast I told Aniela, in presence of the others, that my father had left the picture to her in his will; which confused her, and she guessed at once that he had looked upon her as his future daughter. It is true there was no name mentioned in the will, and for that very reason I want Aniela to have it. The mention of this bequest reawoke in us both a host of memories. I had done this on purpose to turn Aniela"s thoughts to the past, when she loved me and could love me in peace. I know the remembrance must be mingled with some bitter thoughts, even some resentment; it cannot be otherwise; but it would be worse without the message I sent her through Sniatynski. This message is the only extenuating circ.u.mstance in the whole guilty affair. Aniela knows that I wanted to undo the wrong, that I loved her then, suffered, and repented,--am repenting still, and that if we are unhappy she too helped to bring that unhappiness on both. She is bound to absolve me in her heart, regret the past and dream what the future might have been but for my misdeeds and her severity. Even then I was reading in her face that she felt frightened at her own thoughts and visions, and tried to drive them away by a conversation upon indifferent subjects. My aunt is so full of the approaching races and the expected victory of Naughty Boy, who is put down for the government stakes, that she cannot think of anything else. Aniela thereupon began to talk about the races, and made some random remarks and asked a few questions, until my aunt got scandalized and said:--
"My dear child, I see you have not the slightest notion about races."
I said to her with my eyes: "I know you want to stifle your feelings;"
and she understood me as if I had said it in so many words. And indeed, I am quite certain that she is as much absorbed in our mutual relation as I am. The thought of love independent of matrimony is already planted in her soul; it is there, and does not leave her for a moment. She must live with it, and get reconciled to it. In such a case a woman, even if she had loved her husband, would turn from him.
A drop of water will hollow out a stone. If Aniela loves me ever so little, if she only loves the past, she will be mine. I cannot think of it calmly, because the foretaste of happiness is almost choking me.
There are here and there quicksands on the seash.o.r.e, and the unwary traveller who wanders there is lost. At times it seems to me that my love is like one of those quicksands, and that I am dragging Aniela into it; I myself am sinking, sinking--Let it be so--but together!
28 May.
My aunt is spending six to eight hours out of the twenty-four at Burzany, one of her farms, a mile from Ploszow, where she pa.s.ses her time in contemplation of Naughty Boy, and in looking after Webb, the English trainer. I was there above an hour yesterday. Naughty Boy is a fine animal,--let us hope he will not be naughty when the great day arrives. But what does it matter to me? Various business is taking me to town, but I am loath to leave Ploszow. Pani Celina has been worse the last few days, but young Chwast, as my aunt calls him, says it is merely a pa.s.sing symptom; he considers it necessary that somebody should always be with the sick lady, to distract her from the thoughts which dwell upon the loss of the dear ancestral home, and consequently weaken her nerves. I try to show her almost a son"s attention, because in this way I earn Aniela"s grat.i.tude, and she gets used to consider me as belonging to them. I have now not the slightest ill-feeling towards the old lady,--she is too unhappy herself; and besides, I begin to love everything and everybody that belongs to Aniela,--with one exception.
Yesterday I spent several hours with the invalid, together with Aniela and Chwast. We were reading and talking. Pani Celina does not sleep at night, and as the doctor does not approve of sleeping-draughts, she dozes off in the daytime after any lengthy conversation, and strange to say, only a sudden silence wakes her up. For this reason we keep up the conversation or the reading. It was the same to-day. But for the doctor"s presence I could speak to Aniela with the greatest freedom.
Just at this time the daily papers are fully occupied with the divorce of the beautiful Pani Korytzka. Everybody talks about it, and my aunt, who is related to the husband, is greatly shocked. I resolved to make the most of my opportunity, and plant ideas in Aniela"s mind that had not been there before.
"You are quite wrong, dear aunt, to blame Pani Korytzka. To me it seems that she acts as a true and honest woman should. Where love begins, human will ends,--even you must acknowledge that. If Pani Korytzka loves somebody else, nothing remains for her but to leave her husband. I know what you are going to say, and also what Aniela thinks,--that duty still remains; is it not so?"
"I think you too must be of the same opinion," replied Aniela.
"Most certainly. The question is which way lies Pani Korytzka"s duty."
I do not know why, but the young doctor stipulated that he did not recognize any free will, but afterwards listened attentively, evidently pleased with the boldness of my views.
But seeing astonishment on Aniela"s face, I went on quickly:--
"What can there be more barbarous or unnatural than to ask a woman to sacrifice the man she loves to the man she does not love? Religious beliefs may be in contradiction with one another, but they all agree upon the same ethics, that marriage is based upon love. What then is matrimony? It is either something inviolable and essentially holy when resting upon such a basis, or if otherwise, only a contract in contradiction to religion and morality, and as such ought to be dissolved. Otherwise speaking, a woman"s duties spring from her feelings, and not from a number of more or less solemn ceremonies, which in themselves are only so many forms. I say this because I am a man who puts truth above mere forms. I know the word "faithlessness"
sounds very terrible. But do not delude yourselves with the notion that a woman is faithless at the moment she leaves her husband. She is faithless the very moment she feels that her love for him is gone.
What follows after is only a question of her capacity to bring things to a logical conclusion, of her courage and her heart that knows, or does not know, the meaning of love. Pani Korytzka loved the man for whom she divorces her husband before she was married; the marriage was contracted in a moment of misunderstanding, she mistaking an exhibition of jealousy for indifference. This was her only mistake; which she wants to correct now that she understands that it was not right to sacrifice the man she loved to the man she looked upon with indifference; n.o.body but those who will not see can call her bad or a hypocrite."
There was as much fiction as truth in what I was saying. I knew my aunt would never agree to the theory that the will ends when love steps in; but I said it to impress Aniela with the idea that there was no doubt about it. That first lover was also an invention of my own, to make the story more to the point. But I was perfectly sincere when speaking about the rights and duties springing from feeling. It is quite another thing that I might not stand up for this theory if it did not suit me just then; but man is always subjective, especially the man who has doubted all objective truths.
I stood up for myself, and should have been foolish to speak against my own interest. I counted that this kind of reasoning would hasten the evolution of her soul, encourage her, and finally justify her in her own eyes. Considering her great sensitiveness, I thought some of it would take root. She understood me perfectly, and I could see that every word thrilled her nerves; her color came and went; she put her hands to her burning face to cool it. At last, when I had ceased speaking, she replied:--
"Everything may be proved in some way or other; but when we do wrong our conscience tells us, "It is wrong, wrong!" and nothing can convince it to the contrary."
Young Chwastowski must have thought Aniela wanting in philosophical development, and as to myself I had a sensation like that, for instance, when a weapon comes into contact with a stone wall. Aniela"s reply, in its simplicity and dogmatism, brought to naught all my arguments. For if the principle that the will ends where love steps in might be open to doubt, there is no doubt whatever that where dogma begins reasoning ceases. Women generally, and Polish women especially, agree with logic as long as it does not bring them into danger. At the approach of danger they shelter themselves behind the fortifications of simple faith and catechismal truth, which strong feeling might force to surrender, but reasoning, never. It is their weakness, and at the same time their strength. In consequence of this their power of reasoning is weaker than man"s, but their saintliness in certain conditions becomes una.s.sailable. The devil can lead a woman astray only when he inspires her with love; by way of reasoning he can do nothing, even if for once he has the right on his side.
In presence of these reflections I feel disheartened. I am thinking that any structure, however cleverly and artfully raised by me, will be pulled down by the simple words: "It is wrong; conscience does not permit it."
In presence of that I am powerless. I must be very careful so as not to estrange or frighten her by the boldness of ideas I try to acclimatize in her mind. And yet I cannot give up all endeavors of this kind. Though they do not occupy the first place in the plan of subduing her, they may hasten the solution. They would be of no use whatever if it were true that she did not love me. If I had made a mistake,--but even then there would be some kind of solution.
29 May.
To-day I found Aniela standing on a chair before the old Dantzic clock which had gone wrong. At the moment she raised herself on tip-toe to reach the hands, the chair gave way. I had only time to cry out, "Take care! you are falling!" I caught her in my arms, and put her on the floor. For the twinkling of an eye I held the dear girl in my arms, her hair touched my face, her breath fanned my cheek. I felt so dizzy that I had to steady myself by grasping the back of a chair,--and she saw it. She knows I love her madly. I cannot write any more.
30 May.
My whole day was poisoned, for Aniela has received another letter from Kromitzki. I heard her telling my aunt that he does not know himself when he will be able to return,--may be shortly, or it may be two months hence. I cannot even imagine how I shall be able to bear his presence near Aniela. At times it seems that I simply could not bear it. I count upon some lucky chance that will prevent his coming back.
Chwastowski says Pani Celina ought to go to Gastein as soon as she can bear the journey. Gastein is such a distance from Baku that it may be too far for Kromitzki to go. I shall go there as sure as there is a heaven above us. It is a happy thought of Chwastowski"s; the baths will do us all much good. I too feel f.a.gged and in want of bracing mountain air, and still more in want of being near Aniela. To-morrow I shall go to Warsaw, and send a telegram to the manager of the bathing establishment to secure rooms for the ladies. If no rooms are to be had, I am ready to buy a villa. When Pani Celina spoke of the trouble and difficulties it would give Aniela were she to go there, I only said: "Leave it all to me;" and then, in a lower voice, to Aniela: "I will take care of her as if she were my own mother." I saw that Pani Celina, who believes less and less in Kromitzki"s millions, was afraid I might arrange things on too expensive a scale; but I have already settled it in my mind to show her a fict.i.tious agreement, and take the greater part of the expenses upon myself. Of course, I never mentioned that I intended going there myself. I will arrange it so that the proposal shall come from my aunt. I am quite sure that, as soon as I unfold my plans of going somewhere in the hills to recruit my health, the good soul will fall into the trap, and say: "Why not go with them?
it will be more comfortable for all of you." I know it will frighten Aniela, and in the most secret recess of her heart please her a little. Maybe it will remind her of the poet"s line, "You are everywhere: above me, around me, and within me." Then truly, my love will surround her as with an enchanted circle, enter her heart in the guise of thoughtfulness towards the mother,--in the guise of little services she cannot refuse without exciting her mother"s suspicions; all this will gradually sink into her heart, in the guise of grat.i.tude and pity for my sufferings, will thrust itself upon her with all the force of old memories.
She hears my praises sung by everybody: by my aunt, who loves me blindly as she always did; by young Chwastowski, who, to show the impartiality people of his opinions are capable of, maintains I am an exception in the "rotten sphere." I have even won over Pani Celina by my attentions; she likes me now, and involuntarily, I dare say, regrets that I am not Aniela"s husband. All around Aniela there is one great suggestion of love.
And you, dearest, are you going to resist all these powers? When will you come and tell me: "I cannot hold out any longer; take me,--I love you"?
Warsaw, 31 May.
Pani L., the patroness of a charitable inst.i.tution, asked Clara to give another concert for the benefit of the dest.i.tute. Clara refused on the plea that she is busy upon a great musical work that engages all her attention. The letter,--a very pattern of polite refusal,--was accompanied by exactly the same sum of money the first concert had brought in. It is easy to imagine what a sensation this act of generosity made in Warsaw. The papers were full of it, raising the musician and her generosity to the sky. Naturally, her private means, which are considerable, gained in dimensions. I do not know how society came to couple our names; perhaps, our acquaintance, dating from a long time, our intimacy, and the exaggerated news of her wealth gave rise to the rumor. I was at first a little angry on hearing this; but upon maturer reflection, resolved not to give any direct denial, because this puts my attentions towards Aniela beyond all suspicion.
When I went to Clara"s morning reception, Pani Korytzka came up to me, and, with that witty, aggressive air of hers, asked me in presence of some dozen people from the musical world and Warsaw society, in an audible voice,--
"Tell me, cousin, who was that mythological person that could not resist the Siren?"
"n.o.body resisted, _ma cousine_, except Ulysses; and he only because he was tied to the mast."
"And why have you not taken these precautions?"
I saw some covert smiles lurking in the faces of those who witnessed the attack, and I retorted,--
"Sometimes even that is of no use. You know that love sunders the strongest ties."
In spite of all her self-possession, Pani Korytzka grew confused, and I gained one of those tiny victories which are comprised in the proverb, "The scythe hit upon a stone," or in plain English, "The biter bit."
Whether people repeat to each other that I am going to marry Clara or not, does not trouble me in the least; in fact, for the above stated reason I do not mind it at all; but I did not expect that this visit would turn out so unpleasant, and Clara herself be the cause of it.
When all the people had left, and only Sniatynski and I remained, she sat down to the piano, and played her new concerto,--played it so magnificently that we could not find words to express our admiration; repeating at our request the finale, she said, suddenly,--
"This is my farewell, because everything comes to a finale."
"Surely you are not thinking of leaving us?" asked Sniatynski.
"Yes, in ten days at the furthest I must be at Frankfurt," replied Clara.
Thereupon Sniatynski turned to me,--