Dr. Szremski upon his return to the hotel began to ponder over
Swidwicki's words, which were imbedded deeply in his memory. Before his
eyes there glided a picture of the funeral procession and that coffin,
with the victim, murdered by those to whom she wanted to do good. "Yes,
yes!" he said to himself, "that apparently was a mistake, but similar
mistakes are the logical consequences of the unbridled, blind, animal
instincts. We must admit that we are flying at break-neck speed into
some bottomless abyss. And not only we. But is it allowable to conclude
from this, that, as to-day we conducted song, murdered by the rabble,
so after ten, twenty, or fifty years we will witness the burial of
learning, culture, and civilization? Apparently--yes. It is high time
that God, Who rules the world, should give new proofs that He in
reality rules. It ought to thunder so that the earth would tremble--or
what? Mankind are entering upon a road which is directly opposite to
entire nature. For the whole endeavor of nature is to create as perfect
beings as possible and through them to ennoble the species; and
humanity perversely kills them as it did that angelic child, or else
seizes them by the hair to drag them from the heights to the general
level. And nevertheless this is but a specious appearance. If the
engineers determined to excavate all the mountains and make the earth
as smooth and even as a billiard ball, some convulsions would take
place, some eruptions of volcanoes would occur, which would create new
abysses and new heights. Of the Aryan spirit can be said that which the
Grecians, enamoured with the soothing architectonical lines, said of
the Roman arches: 'The arch will never fall asleep.' Likewise the Aryan
spirit. The humanity, which possesses it, is incapable of drifting into
infinity on one wave, thinking one thought and living in one idea. That
which is to-day--will pass away. On the summits of reason, feeling, and
will, new whirlwinds will generate and they will raise new waves."
Here the doctor's thoughts were apparently directed nearer to matters
lying more on his heart, for he began to clench his fist and pace with
big, uneasy steps about the room.
"Will we," he said to himself, "however, remain amidst these
convulsions, waves, and whirlwinds? Whirlpools? Whirlpools!--and of
sand! Sand is burying the whole of Poland and transforming her into a
wilderness, on which jackals live. If this is so, then it would be best
to put a bullet in the head.--I am curious as to what Gronski would say
to this--but lightning has struck his head and it is of no use to speak
to him.--We are lost past all help? That is untrue! Beneath these
whirlpools which are whirling upon the surface of our life is something
which Swidwicki did not perceive. There is more than elsewhere, for
there is a bottomless depth of suffering. There plainly is not in the
world greater misfortune than ours. With us the people awake in the
morning and follow the plough in the field, go to the factory, to the
offices, behind the benches in the shops, and all manner of labor--in
pain. They go to sleep in pain. That suffering is as boundless as the
expanse of the sea while the whirlpools are but ripples upon that
expanse. And why do we suffer thus? Of course, we might, at once,
to-morrow, breathe more freely and be happier. It would be sufficient
for every one to say to Her, that Poland, of whom Swidwicki says that
she is perishing, 'Too much dost Thou pain me, too much dost Thou
vex me; therefore I renounce Thee and from this day wish to forget
Thee.'--And nevertheless nobody says that; not even such a Swidwicki,
who prevaricated when he said it is all one to him; not even they who
throw bombs, and murder sisters and brothers!--And if it is so that we
prefer to suffer than renounce Her, then where are the jackals and
where is Her destruction? Jackals seek carrion, not suffering! So She
lives in every one of us, in all of us together, and will survive all
the whirlpools in the world. And we will set our teeth and will
continue to suffer for Thee, Mother, and we--and if God so wills
it,--and our children and grandchildren will not renounce neither Thee
nor hope."
Here Szremski was touched by his own thoughts, but dawn brightened his
countenance. He found an answer to the question which Swidwicki thrust
into his soul. Walking, he began to repeat: "For nothing, nobody would
consent to suffer thus." After which it occurred to his mind that to
suffer for Her was not yet sufficient, for he began to rub his hands
and turn up his rumpled sleeves, as if he wanted at once to do some
important and urgent work. But, after a while, he observed that he was
in the hotel, so he smiled, with his sincere, peculiar smile, and said
aloud:
"Ha! It cannot be helped. To-morrow I must return to my hole and push
the wheelbarrow along."
And suddenly he sighed:
"To my solitary hole."
After which, he, himself, not knowing why, recollected what Swidwicki
had told him about the breaking of Krzycki's matrimonial engagement,
and his thoughts, like winged birds, began to fly to Zalesin.